I stopped visiting your timeline to see if you’ve posted or shared something about me. When I checked who viewed my facebook stories, it didn’t hurt me anymore when your name wasn’t there. I stopped talking about you. I never liked the taste of your name slipping out of my mouth. My friends got tired of listening to all my stories about how happy we were. I got tired too. I got tired of hoping you’d finally come back.
I stopped asking your friends about what were you doing when I got tired of hearing the same answer each day; you were fine, that you were happy while I was here, suffering from the pain you’ve caused. I didn’t bother asking your sister if you ever talked about me because I knew you’d never do that. You kept me like I was a dirty secret from your family– I’d never forget that. I stopped listening to all your favorite songs. I stopped reading your favorite book. I stopped fangirling over your favorite author. I stopped appreciating your favorite color. I stopped writing poems about you when I realized you were not worthy of any metaphors. I started hating everything about you.
I hated your entire existence. I hated that our paths had crossed. I hated how you made me believe in everything you’ve said and promised. I hated how I wanted you to be the man I’d spend my future with. I hated that I trusted you. I hated that I shared too much to you— even my darkest fear and secrets. I hated how much I loved you.
At first, I thought these realizations would never come. That I would never move on from you. That I would always hope. I thought I really could never go on a day without thinking about you, without talking to you, but everything that had to do with you finally stopped. It all stopped.
There were days when I felt like there was something heavy resting on my chest. As days gone by, I’ve realized it was our memories. Piece by piece, I decided to let it all go. And that was the bravest and the best decision I’ve ever made. For the first time in such a long time, I felt whole again.
