How long does it take for you to get over an ex? I read online that it takes 17 months and 26 days to get over an ex. How I wish it was true. Oh, how I wish it took me 17 months and 26 days too. But the sad truth is it has been four years since you walked away and I still can’t seem to get over you.
This might not be the day I let you go, but this will be the day I accept that I have to try.
This is me trying to accept that I am no longer needed in your life. I say ‘needed’ and not ‘wanted’ because you only want me when you need me. You texted me when she left you because you needed clarification; someone to make you feel that you are still loved and lovable.
“Why do you love me?”
You asked in hopes that I would give you an answer that could ease your pain of losing her. But you did it at the expense of my pain; you used my pain to ease yours. You did it knowing very well that I never got over the fact that I lost you. And what’s worse, you did it knowing that I didn’t know you had someone new after me. You did it selfishly, for yourself.
You should have seen me waking up to that text from you. You should have seen how I bent over the sink as I choked on my toothpaste because I knew I was going to answer that question. I knew I wanted to make you feel better but I didn’t want to be your clarification. I didn’t want you to use my love for you that way, but you did it anyway. And I let you do that to me without a second thought.
This is me trying to accept that you loved me again – for a night. I said one night because you drove to my house at 10 pm when I told you I wanted to die. That was the first time we met again after four long years. This was the night I knew I really do still love you.
“Do I have the privilege to kiss you?”
You asked and I love you for that. Because you didn’t come right at me. You asked before you kissed me for the first time too. Oh, if you’re reading this – what were you thinking of? Did you love me back then or was it just to make sure I got through that night instead of taking my own life? You might have thrown me a rope but you let me find my own way to secure the rope to climb out of the hole. Because you stopped contacting me after that. You slowly cut down on calls, texts became shorter. It felt like you were getting tired of me being so sad.
It almost felt like you wouldn’t care if I took my own life this time. And I won’t lie; I nearly killed myself for that.
Because it felt like I was losing you. All. Over. Again. I refused to let you have the last text. Every time you sent me something like ‘okay’ or ‘alright then’ I would always find ways to say something because I didn’t want you to have the last word again. But little did I know, every little blue tick became a knife aimed for my soul. Because these blue ticks were realizations that you’d made a choice.
I can’t go on this way.
So this is me.
This is me letting you go.
This is me accepting that I have to try, not because I stopped loving you. But because I know I won’t be able to survive every day second-guessing your love for me. This is me accepting that I won’t be able to stay as a part of your life when you love her. This is me accepting that it’s alright that I refused to let you kiss me that night because it would be goodbye. This is me accepting that I won’t be able to survive losing you a second time. And this is me accepting that I still do love you so much that I have to allow you stay gone, because you want to be gone.
This is me letting you go because I have to try to put myself first.
Because I have to stop being afraid of forgetting your voice and never feeling the warmth of your hands again. Because I have to stop being needy even though your arms felt like home.
This is me trying to stop hurting myself, this is me putting away my blades. This is me accepting that I might not be enough for myself today, but I will be someday, and everything will be okay again. This is me, accepting that you’re not coming back into my life; that you’re doing perfectly fine without me.
This is me knowing that I love you but we always seem to meet at the worst time. And maybe the next time I meet you, I’ll be able to tell you how I wish you the best instead of how I wish you never left.
So this is me signing off.
This is me. This is me letting you go.
I love you.