The Ramblings of the Hopeful Overthinker

The silent between two people who used to love each other is so horribly loud. I have combed every inch of my mind for every word, every moment, and every feeling. Trying to force the past to rewind so I could relive it one more time, so I could have a-little more time. Break-ups are truly so tough when you were so emotionally invested. Sometimes I wonder how many people out there also feel the way I do, having felt that feeling of hopelessness. How many others are thinking the same things I am in a situation like this? Sitting there wondering if it actually gets easier? If the hurt ever fades? Nitpicking every moment and wondering where it all went wrong?

I wish healing was linear, some days I’m ready to conquer the world and start a new chapter of my life. And other days I feel the absence like a severed limb, one of the characters is missing from my storyline. Then I tell myself to think of it this way, maybe this might not be the last chapter, this could just be the ending of the first book. The book that encompasses all of my 20’s and everything I’ve experienced and learned documented but never to be re-visited again. Maybe I’m in the midst of beginning the sequel and his character could no longer be apart of that.

The first book had an unexpected ending, like most good books do. I watched him from the other side of the bridge, match in one hand, the match seemed to fall in slow motion. All I could do was stare as that bridge went up in flames. He didn’t speak, all he did was wave goodbye as he turned his back and walked away. Yet, I realized there’s something beautiful about watching the bridge burn. Even though a part of me feels split in two. One part of me wants to let him leave and the other part of me wants to risk getting burnt as I cross the bridge to close the distance between us. But now he is so far away I guess that’s why they say to always expect the unexpected.

So as of right now, I’m flipping through a book with empty pages. Pages that will soon be filled with everything the future has in store for me, and I know, as I write out those chapters of my life there will be small moments where I reminisce on the nostalgia of that final chapter in the previous book. There might be days where there will be songs that remind me of the old chapters. Of dancing in the kitchen to sweet country songs or the days where I will pass by places we used to go and be haunted by his memory. As I write the new chapters, there will come a time that none of those things will bring me the same feeling of pain and anxiety as they used to. I will dance in my kitchen to those same songs and I will have the courage to walk into those places we used to go. Yet, I will smile regardless of the bittersweet feeling that might accompany it.

I have caught glimpses of him as I have started to write my new pages. But for some reason, he never looks at me. He has never looked me in the eye after he set a match to that bridge. It feels symbolic somehow, signifying the past. Thinking back on the memories that I will soon replace with new ones. His character slowly fading away from all the times we had together, until there’s no longer space for him. He will no longer reside in those precious parts of my mind, it will only be me left to fill all that was left empty by him.

Even now, as I sit here writing this. I’m grateful for all that I learned from that last chapter. It was the most important one, it taught me about myself in more ways than I can count, it taught me what I’m capable of. It taught me that people should earn a place in your life, making sure to invest yourself when it feels right. And it taught me about my flaws because no one is perfect and there will always be room for improvement. It’s all a matter of being able to acknowledge those character flaws and working on them. But I think most importantly, it taught me how to keep going. That in the face of heartache and pain, you can and will rise from the ashes of the bridge that was burnt by the person you thought you couldn’t live without.