There’s a thing, you see. When your name comes up in conversation, I take a staggering blow to my middle, an unbalancing of my core as I watch my mind’s contents crash to the cold, hard floor.
But it’s okay. I’m okay. I swear.
It’s only a temporary break, and as soon as I see the scattered shards at my feet, I regain my strength and they are once again whole and back where they belong. But the thing is, there are still walls up, there are still barriers between us that don’t allow for contact except for you to inform me that my mail is piling up (for which we have the postal system to thank). Without this contact, I might think you had left town or vanished completely.
When I ended things, I didn’t think it would be this hard. I didn’t think it would take as long as it did to learn my own reassembly. I thought I’d have a much easier time of it since I was the one who initiated the end. Good lord, I was wrong. It’s pain was quite vicious, it hurt more than I care to admit, and for much longer than I had expected. I miss you — but I don’t want us back, just you as an individual. You as my best friend.
I knew as well then as I know now that it was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make things any easier. It didn’t help the tears fall any less frequently. It didn’t help me sleep through the night any more often. It didn’t help my heart break any less completely. But it did help — somehow.
I hope it helped you too.