Bomb & Anchor

“Maybe I had to let you destroy me to finally stop loving you.”

The line in your latest post to pretend they don’t exist and that what they’re doing is no longer a concern 👏🏻 This mindset has helped me tremendously over the past year. Sometimes I find myself conflicted since I broke up with him, and sometimes I feel like it was mistake but I know it’s a fleeting feeling. I like to think of it as we’re all on separate journeys, our paths intersected for a time but we weren’t each other’s to keep. He was never my forever and that’s okay.

How do you move on from something or someone who has already moved on from you?

What would you do with all the pictures and videos of someone who broke you? They were supposed to be pics to show our future kids...

““People don’t stick around for no reason,” he says, cupping her chin. “If they’re with you, you gotta trust them when they say they love you.” “And the opposite is also true,” he diverts his gaze. “If they leave, you gotta trust that they don’t.””

People are impermanent. The love of your life will leave you. On a Sunday morning, they’ll kiss you for the last time.

“I remember crying over you and I don’t mean a couple of tears and I’m blue. I’m talking about collapsing and screaming at the moon.”

One day you’re going to learn how to feel without feeling it all at once.

You are so afraid of rejection that you push away anyone who you grow any fondness for. And it keeps you lonely, but at least there’s consistency.

A year has passed and you still think of her. But you no longer know if the “her” in your mind is the “her” in real life. Memories come in flashes. The way she laughed so hard one time, she fell off the bed. The time she cried at a Christmas advert on TV. You remember the first present she ever got you, a small music box from Venice. You remember her eyes wide, in anticipation, and then in relief: “I love it."  You remember smoothing her wet hair from her face that time she came home in the rain; mascara smudged, running down both cheeks. You called her panda and she laughed. You remember her laugh.  You remember the nervousness at meeting her family for the first time. Then, stepping into her childhood bedroom, and everything starting to make sense. You remember pointing to a box on top of her bookshelf. "What’s that?” you asked. “Memories,” she said. “It’s a box full of memories.” “Can I see?” you asked. “No,” she said, “they’re things from the past. And that’s where they belong.” Later, you realised that she meant they were memories of the people she had loved.  She’d always amazed you with the way that she could so easily move on. “The past is the past,” she liked to say. Now, you are her past. And she is yours. The only difference is that you still think of her. And you cannot help but wonder if she ever thinks of you, or whether you are simply a part of the box at the top of her shelf.

It’ll be weird seeing her again. It’ll be like revisiting a memory that you thought you’d forgotten. Her hair will be longer, or shorter, her hair will have changed; hair always does. Her eyes will be the same. Hearing her voice will be like going back to the place you used to live and noticing the new curtains. Being close to her will be strange. She’ll say something like, “you look well,” and you’ll reply with a, “thanks, you too.” And it’ll feel like death, like an iron fist around your heart. And then she’ll point to your shirt and say, “is that new?” and you won’t have the heart to say you bought it seven months ago after she left, so instead you say, “I haven’t worn it around you before.” When she emits a small laugh you’ll feel the tiniest ounce of pride. She still finds you funny. When she’s telling you about her new life you’ll find your mind wandering into places you didn’t think mattered anymore. Places like, was she in love now and was she being treated well? Places like, did she ever miss you, and in and amongst all of her living did she ever consider coming back?