A Month

Her soul ached. Everything reminded her of him. It had been a month and day since he’d ended things, and only a couple days since she’d last talked to him. It hit her hard the day before. One month. It was really over.

He was doing everything he could to purge her from his thoughts, while she had hoped he wouldn’t. She cried from just the memories of them slow dancing; of waking up next to him in his bed and holding him from behind. She remembered him kissing her forehead and the smile he had when he’d see her; she sobbed louder and begged for her heart to cease. Anything to simply put her out of her misery. She hadn’t let these tears shed for weeks, and in a way, she missed them.

She had held her emotions in and kept telling herself she was okay. I’m 95 percent better than before, she said, but that 5 percent still does damage. It was true, but not entirely, or else she wouldn’t be silently praying every night for him to come back to her. She felt so alone, not being able to talk to him, and still knowing that once he did message, if he did, he’d be over her completely. She knew she wouldn’t though. She even hated her friends telling her to cheer up because she’d find someone better. She didn’t want better, she wanted him.

He was the one who made her heart leap. She had never felt that way with any guy she dated. Every kiss with them was empty and she couldn’t feel the same connection they felt, but he was different. From the seventeen years she had spent looking for that magical spark from a kiss, she had found it. She still remembered the first time they kissed, how innocent, but blissful, it felt. Every kiss from him was filled with even a sliver of that emotion. It was real, and she knew it, but it was gone in a second.

She wondered how long it would take to cease the heartache, to look at another man without feeling guilty. Not because she was betraying him, but herself. She cared deeply for him and suddenly he was gone. How could she go through that again? She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. She would even be okay going back to him, because he didn’t hurt her for another, he did it for them. Maybe more for him. They wanted different things and the fights were intense. Communication was off and it just seemed bad, but of course, this all happened behind screens. When they were together, it was different. He’d hold her close and hold her hand. He’d greet her with a kiss and smile right after. They were happy, but it wasn’t the right time. She’d told him that when they last saw each other. When he told her it was over.

He’d told her he was hurting too. The last call they had, he had started crying. It was foreign to her. To go from someone who displayed a nonchalance character toward their breakup, to this new weeping mess, was bizarre. He’d said that he had tried not to hurt her while they were trying to be friends after the breakup, even though it hurt him to still talk to her. He’d been trying to keep his emotions down and didn’t want to talk about it with anyone because it’d only hurt more. She knew how he felt, but she still believed it didn’t match her pain. She’d dreamt about him several times and with every wake, she’d quietly cry herself back to sleep, praying that she wouldn’t dream of him again. She actually did let her feelings consume her and would drown in them for more than once a day. But when she saw he was doing fine, she had gathered herself up and blocked the emotions out.

It was stupid to be crying over such a short relationship, she was told. But it seemed so much longer. They were beyond comfortable with one another in such a short time. At least she was. And he made it seem so easy to move on. Who was she kidding, it’s not like he loved her. He had only had a crush on her, practically. He seemed more than fine with them being over, and she thought that it’d help her move on faster. It didn’t. She didn’t know if she could even manage to be friends. She’d always secretly want him. But he’d move on, eventually, and be happier with someone else, completely forgetting how she once made him feel. Or simply replacing her with someone better. Someone not her.

Yes, he’d move on and tell her, “It’s better that we didn’t work, but now look where are lives are now. You’ll find someone too.”

She would hear her heart crush. She’d smile and lie about how great she was doing. Trying so hard to not start crying, and if she did she’d just say she was happy for him, because to say anything else would be wrong. He would question her, but wouldn’t pry because he knew the answer. He’d walk away with a forced smile on his face, probably try to awkwardly hug her, but it wouldn’t help, it’d only hurt more. She’d want nothing more but for him to tell her it was a cruel joke and in fact, he’s wanted her all along, but it wouldn’t happen. Fairytales don’t come true.

One day she’d give him this letter, and maybe she’d stay long enough to watch his expression. She’d smile faintly and nod her head to confirm that she’s the girl in the letter. Or she’d walk away and wait for a response from him, either a call or text, that would confirm the entirety of what she believed would happen. He’d apologize and say he didn’t know she still felt that way, but that if she did, she didn’t have to be his friend, and he’d repeat the exact thing she believed he would; saying that he really does want her to be happy but that he was over her and she should move on too. She’d reread her letter and say, “I knew it,” because she did. She knew she wouldn’t get lucky twice, and that was the truth.