epilogue

I miss you a lot. It feels really sad that it’s all over.
but it did feel that way this morning
It felt final this morning, unsalvageable from this point forward,
which I think is the right thing to do, but also heart-wrenching.
I was searching for you in my dreams last night, but you weren’t there.
You weren’t there when I woke up to look for you next to me.
You weren’t there when I turned on my phone looking for messages.

You are gone,
and unlikely to ever come back.
It feels sad also because we no longer talk. We no long share the important emotions and feelings that overcome us and feel connected and unafraid.
It feels sad because our relationship will not be laughter, but just silence. Even tears would be better, because at least we would see and know.

But there is only
.
The nothingness is what kills, because you know there is still something there, and we are just trying to slow suffocate it until it wilts and decays and dies.

And if it is all over, what do we make of these memories?
Do we tear them up and toss and burn? Or do we just hide them in the deepest darkest corner, or do we just let them lay in plain sight, picking it up sometimes and flipping through it. I would like to cherish them as such, good memories that came to an end.

The biggest difference between death and a breakup, is that it one case you are trying to forget a person, and in the other you are actively trying to remember a person.

And where do you bottle these feelings, these thoughts? Do we write them in secret journals and postcards that we send off to the abyss. She is unlikely ever to read this either, as they are meant not to be.
In my mind, I look forward to that day where we can sit together again,
and laugh and talk about the old times, and maybe the good times and the bad ones. And we can talk about how it all ended and what we felt, missing and being missed. But I think that is just wishful thinking. As a friend said, exes are never friends.

Our hearts are fragile. We break them to tape them back together only to break them again and again. In hops that at the end of it all, there will be someone holding all the pieces together with her hands.

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