What I Once Called Love: The Drafts

The Break, Pt. I

I cut you off, again.

I told myself that loving you was like being an addict, and I needed to seek help so one day I could live without you.

The first month was absolute hell. I had grown attached to the habit of telling you the little details about my day and reading as you would reply likewise. Without the constant buzzing of your name on my phone, I felt insignificant, like it was pointless to exist without someone taking notice.

Month two had me diving straight into the pit of self-hatred as I began to notice the way my body looked in the mirror. I could still feel every place you touched, and no amount of scrubbing in the shower get your memory off of me.

The third month reminded me that it wasn't just the relationship I had lost. We had been friends once, friends who are not afraid to be vulnerable with each other, even when it hurt. With you gone, I grew to be disgusted by the way that I had let you unfold my guard, my best kept secrets placed under a spotlight for everyone to see.

Month four heated more than just the afternoons. Anger came to me with every thought of you. I hated the way I had willingly become your doormat, a place for you to shed your iced exterior before entering the warmth of my soul. I would have done anything to make you see how much of a man you could be, but instead I accepted the immaturity and lack of commitment as I know they were the only way I could hold onto you. In trying to prove your worth, I undervalued my own; I promised myself I'd never make that mistake again.

Month five was full of transitions. I had decided to leave the toxicity of my past self behind and go somewhere I could learn to grow. It was not an easy choice, but right choices never are. I developed a stronger bond with the people who were as determined as I was to work towards a better tomorrow.

The sixth and seventh months revealed that my history with you matter less than my emotional stability so I invested in a good therapist and even better wine for those nights when the stars invited my gaze. There were moments when I thought I might miss you, but I felt satisfied with life. The alone time that used to leave me trembling now gave me the opportunity to reflect on old dreams. Oh, how I long to dream again...

Month eight came with a subtle wink. It was a cold autumn evening, and I gathered with old friends, noting how much everything has changed. That was when he came in. I thought I recognized his towering charisma, the same kind I once found in your leather jacket, but his eyes did not hold signs of warning like yours. We talked off-and-on for almost an hour, and I was stunned by the warmth of his smile. It had been a while since I had considered a man to be beautiful. It seemed as if my potential for love might not be a closed door after all.

The ninth month came, and I felt a new excitement in my soul. I slowly started to find my voice, something I thought was long gone. My eyes were focused on starting the year anew by leaving my regrets in the past, but you couldn't let that happen, could you?

One text. 

That's all it took to witness the foundations of my identity quick with emotions I could not control. 

One stupid text, and the cycle began again.