Breakups Suck

It’s unsettlingly ironic to me the quantity of time I waste trying to convince myself that I hate you. Or an even worse notion that reflects poor qualities on my part, how much time I burn wanting to hate her. Now I know I am not nor ever will exceed an average level of human goodness and graciousness so these ideas rarely feel unexpected or “too low” for me. Even further, if I may spend a second more bashing myself in this pity of a repertoire, these behaviors and ideals are warranted, actually completely understandable for the events that preluded our demise. However, no level of expectation of these feelings would ever leave me ready for what it feels like to live on without you. No level of expectation would yield me the armor to handle seeing you live on with her. And yes, you must be asking yourself that little pretty question that I will now be answering. You’re still not over me? That’s actually a more convoluted answer that I would hope for. In some ways, actually, in most ways I would proudly and objectively state that I have moved on to such a distance away from you I should be delivered some stupid “you’re-so-good-at-breakups” award. I mean, I have irrevocable fun with so many people, people I didn’t even know when we last spoke in person. I mean, come on now, I light candles in my room and dance around with my cat (that I didn’t even have when we were together) and watch the sunset and kiss my boyfriend. And, GOD, do I love my boyfriend. In my favor, he seems to fill every gap that you couldn’t, which I also in turn understand that she probably serves the same to you. But I wince when I think of that notion. So, in that sense, no I’m not completely over you. Something that has painfully been perplexing me since freshman year (I write as a now senior, I know, mr. pathetic over here). It hurts to think about you, and I mean cut me down the middle, lay on the floor, hopelessly stare out a window while coldplay bounces around me. I just wish you weren’t dating her I guess. I wish it was some random girl I didn’t know. Some girl that wasn’t the reason we broke up. I knew you wanted her then and you proved me right when I spent so many painstaking hours praying to gods I don’t believe in that I wasn’t. And maybe that’s where all the hurt lies, wrapped neatly up in a 28 word sentence with poor word choice and probably awful grammar. But in all honesty to the world below me and skies above, the hurt doesn’t just fit in that and I doubt there’s a structure of words that I could craft to create a stalwart summation of why I still hurt from you. I’ve been coming to realize I don’t think this part of me will ever let you go, no matter how much I will it too. And maybe that’s just how it goes when you serve yourself up to someone, maybe I packaged up and express delivered a piece of myself that has no stupid return policy. Maybe none of us will ever get over anyone that we allow ourselves to connect with on a level deeper than what meets the eye. And to all my lovely people that resonate even a sliver to this, just know no one has any clue of what they are doing. But there will be a sunset tomorrow, and I highly recommend dancing with a cat (or two).