Me After You

It’s been two years. Two years of extraordinary pangs of longing, nostalgia, quietness, internal conflict & deep sea level sadness. For two years I felt the most lonely I ever had. Maybe it was the paranoia; the walls I built back up around me. Maybe it was the intense desire to unload my woes of love and forlorn to someone willing to hold me. Maybe it was the pressure to forget about the ideals pinned to the boy I thought I loved. Maybe it was the realization I wasn’t living as me. Maybe it was college stress. 

Of course, over the span of those two years, I sent a few (ok, a lot of) mental love notes to my past lover in the hopes he’d come back to me. But after acknowledging his permanent leave, I (struggled) directed all that unrequited love back to me. I mean, wherever else would it go? (Waste not, want not.) He was a cool guy and I miss what friendship could’ve been but that whole year was never good for me. I was weak; too characterless and too forgiving. Teenagers often confuse their raging hormones with feelings of love. Especially when there’s a receptacle present.

And then by some miracle, I found myself. & here’s what I’ll say to people who are hung up on a dead relationship: it in no way lessens your credibility. I gained more than I ever did alone than being with someone who was wrong for me. I held myself when I wept alone in the middle of the night. I was haunted by all my ghosts of regret. I thought things too thoroughly that all his mistakes suddenly seemed like mine. I went through them all, coming out the other end more weary than ever. But in all honesty, it has made all the difference; it all made me so much stronger. I danced, I made new friends, I focused on my work, I bonded with other people I used to ignore due to the time and focus that relationship took. It’s refreshing to only think about yourself after sharing privacy for so long. You get to know what you really want to do, be. Free from the shackles of a partner’s expectations of you.

Solitude is such a beautiful, underrated feeling people don’t know how to appreciate. 

What’s the stigma with holding your own hand for a while? 


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