INDIVIDUALE

”I always thought the girls on television and movies were being melodramatic. There was no reason for them to be sobbing, eating ice cream, and watching sappy romance movies because a boy had dumped them. Single and ready to mingle—that’s where the party was. Why couldn’t these girls understand that? No one should want to be tied down to one person so young in life.

This changed about 8 months ago. Now I was the one finding myself in tears when a sad song came on, not to mention “I Won’t Give up” by Jason Mraz. Really Jason? You won’t give up and you’ll keep waiting. Good for you, but I tried that and realized I can’t keep waiting. I waited. A month passed. I waited because of hope and the fond memories of our time together. I waited because of the way he looked at me as if I was the only person that existed. I waited because of the way he held me tightly when we hadn’t seen each for days but the days had felt like weeks. I waited because of the comfort I had felt laying my head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart as we fell asleep on the couch with the afternoon sun glowing behind his curtains. I waited because even when I had just woken up—my ponytail disheveled, eyeliner still smudged slightly around my eyes despite futile attempts to wash it away the previous night with soap, and wearing an unflattering t-shirt—he said I looked beautiful. I waited because I woke up to kisses and his fresh smell when he came into the room after his morning shower. I waited because I could not see myself with anyone else in that moment.

Christmas season came, New Years came, and we spent the time with our own family and friends. It was about a month before I came back. I should have known something had changed when he stopped texting, calling, trying to meet me. Maybe he was busy, so I shrugged it off. After all, I hadn’t had time to contact him because of my own holiday plans. Before that month, he would text or call asking whether I had time, if I was busy, how I was doing. I’m doing fine, I hope you are too. Conversations could last much longer than expected as we talked about movies or how wonderful or terrible our day was, but we had no recent calls or texts. A few more weeks passed, I couldn’t keep up the charade that I didn’t care about the lack of contact and lack of replies.

“Do you still like me? It’s hard not knowing anything definite or concrete.”

“You mean you want exclusive? I can’t do that, but I do like spending time with you.”

A month passed, I waited and this was the conversation we had. He didn’t want to lose me and he said I had two choices: saying “F*ck it”, or waiting and seeing how things turn out when he wasn’t as busy. I already did the sob thing, I ate cookies rather than ice cream because my freezer recently broke and everything turns a mushy chocolate dairy chunk soup, I listened and sang along to depressing love songs—yes I recently realized I am that melodramatic—and wrote many letters addressed to him that I will never send. During that month of waiting, as patiently as I could, I also realized I’m actually not very patient. It had been 8 months—7 if you don’t count the waiting. I could continue waiting, knowing myself honestly I could. However, this would not be fair to me. At this point I had already opened the dams and the reservoir was empty, I had no more tears to cry for him or the lost relationship. No more waiting, I needed to give my heart time to mend before even thinking about being friends with him. I needed to end the phone call that was breaking my heart as I sat on a park bench with a couple happily snuggling and kissing right across from me.

“Good night, get some sleep.”

“Why are you pushing me away?”

“Just go to sleep, bye.”

What I wanted to say was completely different but I ended that call knowing the process of healing had to begin soon. My throat began to tighten and I did in fact have enough in me to cry. Maybe I should have been honest about why I was pushing him away. Maybe I should have told him, “Cause you’re hurting me.”

”

(Source: weheartit.com, via epictaztical)