It took me months to let you go.
After the last love poem you ever wrote for me, I tried to find the same ethereal beauty in writings of others. They were beautiful. But they weren’t yours. Nobody could write poems like you do. Only ever you.
After the last fight we had, you called me names, I whined and whined, I tried to find the words that would call me silly and still tell me they love me for who I am. No words were the perfect balance of “You are stupid” and “You have a beautiful smile”. Only ever you.
After the final good byes, filled with remorse and tears spilling all over, I tried to find the same hey, beautiful in every greeting, in every hello. None of the words seemed sincere enough. None of them yours. Only ever you.
After the last text you ever sent, I tried to find your mark on everything. I stalked you on your social media accounts, I stalked the kind of music you listen to, I stalked all the words you ever said. It wasn’t you. Only a memory of you. Only ever you.
After the last time I typed your name in the search box and had my fill of your name all over the cursed screen, I thought of texting you once again. Maybe we could make do. Maybe we could work out. I had been too adamant in my refusal to accept you. You had been too insistent our time is now. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have listened to you. Only ever you.
After thinking of you for months and months, I suddenly realised I had no more tears left to cry, I had no understanding of poetic words anymore, I found no joy in lovely hellos these days, you haven’t posted on any of your pages in months now, and I knew I was right afterall. This was my wake up call. You had been special, and I had loved you for who I thought you were. Only ever you.
But you weren’t a match for what my mind had conjured over time. Not in the least. You were a figment of my imagination. And, like everything imaginary, it hurt to let you go. You were mine. And, you were beautiful. But you weren’t real.
Those poems were oversent, those hellos overused, those compliments generic, the memories of you meddled with by my need to hold on to the perfection of you a little while longer, and your exclamations of us belonging together as untrue as they come.
It became easier to take a deep breath and it became easier to let you go.
We weren’t meant to be afterall.