Let’s talk about how our timing’s off.

You see, we couldn’t have planned this out worse.

It would have been infinitely easier to meet you two years earlier or three years later or in a different space or place or country or time zone.

It would have been simpler to meet you in a world where I could wake up nestled tightly in beside you and you could join in each adventure I took on.

It would be marvellous to have all our fates aligned and to see the timing play itself out flawlessly.

But I’m inclined to say we ought to count our blessings.

Because here’s the absolute miracle that we cannot allow ourselves to ignore: out of the billions of years that earth has existed for, you and I ended up alive at the exact same time.

I wasn’t born on your 90th birthday. You didn’t die an untimely death at age 3.

I didn’t live as a pauper in the year 400 B.C. You will not spring into existence 500 years into the future. Out of all the centuries, eras, time periods and Universes we could have ended up in, we somehow both ended up here.

We ended up in the era with planes and trains and cars and cell phones and Skype calls. We ended up in the age of relentless communication and instantaneous connection. Of all the possible worlds that we could have gotten stuck in, we found ourselves living in a time when it’s possible to wake up to a good morning text every day from someone who is clear across the world.

And when you look at it that way, it doesn’t seem so bad. When you look at it that way, it doesn’t seem unbearable to wait for a couple more months or a few painstaking years or a single stretch of absence that will eventually be bridged. When you look at it from the angle of the bleak improbability that two people like you and I would ever co-exist, the timing doesn’t seem so wrong at all.

Because really, who are you and I to demand any more from the Universe? Who are we to mandate that the stars all align in our favor and the fortunes always cater to our fates? When we chisel it down to probability, we’ve already come out on top here. So it’s only fair we put in some work.

Because the truth about the timing being wrong is that it’s nothing more than the world’s flimsiest reason not to try.

It’s the simplest excuse to pack it in. It’s a pre-designed reason to bow out. Saying that the timing is wrong is saying nothing more than ‘You aren’t worth any inconvenience.’

And when it comes to you, that is untrue.

When it comes to you, I’d wade through limitless eras and time zones and alternate realities and Universes trying to find you.

I’d wait for decades or ages or centuries or lifetimes. I’d wait through wars and resolutions and tsunamis and ice ages and apocalypses. I’d wait indefinitely. I’d wait forever.

But the brilliant thing is, I don’t have to do any of that. Because here we are, right now. At this time. In this Universe.

And as long as you’re alive here and I’m alive too, the timing is right enough for me.

I don’t think about how you make me feel. There was too much time spent chasing that feeling. The feeling that came when you looked at me and I felt safe, loved, whole. Too much time has been wasted reaching into the depths of my memories just to dig myself into a comfortable state of nostalgia. Pushing myself into memories is just one more thing that kept you close to me, in some way. But keeping you close isn’t something I need to do anymore. It’s not something I want to do anymore.

After a breakup, all we want to hear, and all we want to say, is that we won’t forget the other person: we’ll keep them close to our hearts, always. There is no metaphor we won’t reach for in order to say, in a roundabout, far-reaching way, that we don’t want them to forget about us. But the more I think back to anytime I promised you I’d keep you close, the more I realize how unfair that was to me. Promising to keep you close was just one more thing that kept me from moving on.

I don’t think about how you’re doing without me. Spending my days hoping that you were still pining for me was too exhausting. Draining back-to-back-to-back hours wondering if you were thinking about me, playing with the idea that maybe our parting would be the first step toward a stronger version of us, was a lot of waiting and not much else. I am not waiting on you, or hoping one of us will change our minds.

I don’t know what you do with your days, or how you spend your time anymore. I have no concept of your routine, give no second thought to the schedule I used to know as well as you knew mine. I’ve forgotten whether you’re a morning or a night person because it no longer affects my sleep schedule.

I no longer want to be reminded of the way your hands felt folded in mind, the way your arms pulled me in. I am done remembering the parts of you that aren’t there anymore. Maybe the best parts of you only existed between us. If so, I am happy that I helped those parts of you surface, happy I was there to share those moments with you. But I can’t spend more time searching for qualities you once had, or love we once shared.

I don’t know your number anymore, and my fingertips have lost the muscle memory that once subconsciously typed in the ten digits that instantly connected me to you. The same muscle memory that would allow me to respond to your text before stopping myself.

I have no knowledge of what your life is any more — and finally, I’ve learned that that’s alright.

Love is most confusing when we are simultaneously trying to hold on to it and let it go. For so long, holding on seemed fruitless, but letting go seemed impossible. But knowing that you aren’t a huge part of my life anymore doesn’t scare me, nor does it discount what we once shared. I do not feel empty or incomplete. I only feel like I know who I am outside of you — outside of us. And that’s how I know I’m over you.

Harley Quinn.

Weirdness! Yeaaaaah! :D