I tell myself he’s gone. Out of my life. It’s out of my control. Nothing I can say or do will bring him back.
I need to get over it. I know that. It will take a clean break. I promise myself I won’t stalk him on social media, won’t check my phone for in the middle of an insomniac night.
I find myself looking longingly at his picture, rereading his words. But it’s more than that. I miss feeling a part of his family, the world he including me in. I’m not sure anyone will make me feel that way again.
I’ve been through break-ups before. I know the drill. The denial at first, thinking that it’s not happening, not this time. The hope that there is still something that will change the outcome. The pit in your stomach when you realize it truly is over. The irresistible urge i to go through all the pictures from the past, to stare longingly at him. The conviction that you will never find anyone again.
I’ll admit it. I haven’t moved on, not yet. I keep hoping he’ll come back. Maybe it won’t be in the same way, maybe our relationship will be different this time, but anything is better than nothing.
Until then, one more look…
Originally published at medium.com