Time Heals, But For How Long?

So Time heals…

But for how long?

Time heals everything, they say. But no one speaks of what happened during that time. Everyone says it’ll pass.

Everyone says it will be okay in the end. Perhaps it will, but right now, it is the greatest pain I’ve ever endured. Loving someone, and I mean loving someone, doesn’t level off.

What I mean is, yes, there are times when you feel a bit of a steadiness, an equilibrium of sorts settling in, but it isn’t mundane, it’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful constant. A growing constant.

He was my constant. Perhaps, everyone was right, perhaps we wouldn’t have worked out. I couldn’t see it when they said it, weeks and months later, I still didn’t see it.

I know he doesn’t see it either. Every day, every moment is now his memory.

My hands seek his hand, my eyes search for those beautiful brown eyes, his scent lingers and I sometimes get a whiff of something that smells like him and my world stops.

I stop, for 2 seconds, 3 seconds, 10 seconds, a minute. The best moments of my day.

Love is a constant effort. Love is not just a feeling of a few moments of butterflies in your tummy, love is a choice, a choice that you make every single day.

As he touched my hand, I wanted to pull it back. It made me feel like a consolation to my soul, like at least that moment happened. A moment of touch couldn’t suffice my dream of holding his hand forever.

I smiled at him when I felt numb on the inside. An ice-cold grip clutched my insides as I kept responding to him like nothing ever went wrong.

You know how they say if you want to get over someone, block them from every possible dimension of your life. I want to change contacts, paths and cities rather than face this very tornado inside me posing a threat to my sanity.

I’d do anything to not feel this way.
“Just one last time babe, please”, his text danced on my screen with a “please” emoji. I declined at first but my stupid heart interfered again and then I asked him when he wanted us to meet.

He looked into my eyes, waiting to see the same excitement about the meeting. Of course, I was now at his place. He gently planted a kiss on my forehead and gestured towards me to come and sit close to him on the bed.

I hesitated a little, trying to hold my fragile heart, he insisted. “You can never be busy enough to not meet me?” My heart questioned. And again for the last time, he took me into his arms so I could hug him, and then we proceeded to kiss and ended up doing lots of unspeakable things to ourselves.

“Why do you have to put me through this every single time?” I questioned but got no response, instead, he offered to see me off. “You know I love you, right?” I said again. How pathetic! I didn’t get a whim from him.

“Okay, I’m leaving now,” I said, hating myself.

As he hugged me to leave, assured that there wouldn’t be another time, I proceeded to move back to my dim little room cursing myself for meeting him again.

As the fairy lights twinkle on the window pane in the darkness of the light, and the lyrics of Brymo’s song decorated with the silence of my room, I wonder how possibly could life be so beautiful and yet so painful, all at once. I waited all night, hoping to get a text from him but I fed on dashed hopes.

I lost my mental balance and I felt useless or perhaps used. Why would he treat me like an ordinary fuck buddy when he meant so much to me? I was disappointed in myself and I couldn’t stop cussing at myself.

Let me clarify that I wasn’t expecting him to talk to me like before, especially when I was the one who first drew the line. But at least he could talk or reply to my messages like normal friends.

He may forget everything easily but my memory and friendship are not that fragile. But one who was once a friend_ now acting like a stranger is much more painful than a breakup or rejection.

I still regret it every day. Every hour. Every moment. Yes, it took every ounce of my well-being to not blow his phone up and respect his decision to never talk to me again. He broke my heart and stomped on it, no one would have loved him as much as I have.

The pain of a lost love lingers like a subtle poison. Letting go of someone you truly love is one of the most difficult things in the world. It is so painful that breathing becomes torture, that talking becomes a chore, and that eating is tasteless.

The pain I felt? The love I felt? They were all mine. No one can take them from me. As much as I hate to admit but I still hold his love close to my heart. Days passed, weeks passed, and months passed.

I still look at the days he was mine and feel comfort. His smile, his eyes, his speech, his tone, his hug, his kiss. Mine. There is comfort in it. No one needs to know but me. Even though I resented him on some days. I still hope to get a text or a call from him someday.