“You don’t stop loving someone just because it’s over.” - Thomas Day

_“…how do I say this?_

_I’m growing, getting older._

_I’m falling into habits._

_They’re all good._

_But there’s this one._

_Just this one—_

_Bothers me from time to time.”_

_I_f he was here— with me— he’d laugh, pull away. He’d swoop that pretty hair out of his face and look away with chocolate eyes.

_“Just listen.”_

I’d say;

_“There’s something…_

_Something I have to tell you.”_

I can’t look at him. I can’t promise him anything. And those eyes, that tinge of sadness within. I swallow this lump in my throat. And I close my eyes. I know it hurts, but I have to imagine this conversation.

_“This isn’t the right time. _

_But I couldn’t just text you._

_And I have to confess._

_Listen, you know I got you._

_You’re mine always._

_Even if you’re not mine._

_Or you’re not with me._

_Please, listen.”_

He was always so difficult. He’ll shrug it off. Look away. Lashes dampened. He’s scared, heart pumping... but mine’s dead and gone. I gave it to him and I won’t ever want it back.

_“There’s someone.”_

He values transparency. Yet his head pops up. And his eyes, those sad eyes, look into mine. I know they’re searching. Darting. Trying to find a work-around.

_“I met him the first of August._

__

_Or either late July._

_But I need you to understand something._

_I can’t — you know— love him._

__

_I don’t think.”_

Tears pool and run onto the satin pillows. I sit up in the dark and rub my face. I cross my legs and drop my wrists to my thighs.

_“And_

_it’s not that I’ll forget you._

_Trust me, love._

_That’ll never happen._

_I don’t want you to be sad._

_I want you to be here,_

_Stay my friend._

_It’s possible._

_We can hurt together._

_Look at me._

_Hey, look at me.”_

You’ll be mad, sad— but knowing you, you’ll be relieved. You’ll realize that I’m trying to stop clinging. I know you wouldn’t say it, but you wanted me to let go. You cared too much to hurt me. And I get that.

_“Don’t get this wrong._

_I’m not leaving._

_I’m not forgetting._

_I just want you to know;_

_When he brought those flowers…_

_Sixteenth of August…”_

I swallow. Eyes wet, my heart torn. I need a way— a way out and away. Something to keep me alive, catch me when I’m drowning.

_“I didn’t know it was happening._

_And I’ll tell you all about it later._

_If you want. _

_But for now,_

_Let’s be in the moment._

_Let’s act like I didn’t tell you._

_And pretend I’m not pretending._

_It’s confusing, I bet._

_Just look at me._

_Me as me for once.”_

The next bit I can’t say aloud. Not even in my thoughts. So I’ll write it here: he brought flowers, big smile and met my Grandma. Shook her hand. And opened his truck door for me. All the while, I watched his hands on the wheel, long legs folded. And I felt my heart tighten.

_Because it’s not you._