Don't forget about me,
Don't forget about me,
Even when I doubt you,
I'm no good without you, no, no, no, no, no
~"Doubt", twenty one pilots
The first week, I texted and Skyped and called you every night. You replied and were online and picked up approximately twice each week. I asked why. You said you were busy helping your family settle in your new home.
I was worried I was already losing you.
...
Two weeks later, my nightmare came true. As usual on a Friday night, I was Skype calling you and was exhilarated when you picked up.
Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Your face was solemn and grave as you looked at me. I felt my heart drop several centimetres into my stomach.
I still remember every word you said.
I... Here you paused.
What's wrong? I asked. Worried. The anxiety in my heart was not well-hidden.
You looked me in the eye - or at least, looked into the camera. I remember thinking, bitterly, that this was what our relationship had become, a pale, shallow imitation of what it used to be. Separated by a computer screen.
You said my name then. I remember how I used to love hearing it across your lips, like you were a poet speaking your best poem. But right then your voice was sad, and soft, like melting ice-cream.
I think we should break up.
I stared.
We've not been seeing each other face-to-face in a while. Just looking at you through the screen... it's not enough. It hurts. It does. And... it isn't like before. Work is piling up. These talks last more than an hour long. My study time is affected. I just wish...
At this point, I disconnected and closed my laptop. I thought I would feel sad after something like this, but instead felt a deep anger boiling from the pit of my stomach. You thought you could toss me away like a piece of rubbish? Well, you were wrong.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Staring at the ceiling, boiling with anger. A feeling of bittersweetness simmered just beneath the surface, memories that the two of us had shared. You'd just thrown them away...
Anger didn't make it any less easy.
And thus began the four stages.
...
Air.
I was an invisible cloud floating in the void of life. The winds that came churned my insides, tossed me around, but I was indifferent. I didn't care. The first month after the breakup I got on with my life, just without much feeling. Stiff. Robotic. Passionless.
My friends did notice, as did my parents, but after several questions of concern they gave up. When they tried to speak I merely shrugged and gave minimal answers. I guess they thought I would get better with time.
And they were right. I did.
...
Water.
About a week after that, I became slightly more substantial. My life was still repetitive, like a machine - wake up, eat, go to school, eat, do homework, eat, sleep, repeat. But this time I went with the flow. I stopped trying to back out of everything. Pool party? Okay. Math competition? I'll try out. Night out with friends? Why not.
I suppose the continued support of care from my family and friends helped the most. Gradually, my emotional well-being improved. Gradually, I started to think that maybe I was getting way too hung up on you. That you weren't worth it.
Gradually, I began to forget you.
...
Earth.
In mid-February, I celebrated my nineteenth birthday. My best friends came. My parents were there. My extended family, classmates, neighbours - they were there. There were smiles and presents and laughter. The bright lights gleamed off the white walls; the cameras clicked and flashed. The taste of joy was evident in the air, and I never wanted to leave.
In the midst of this happiness, I suddenly thought of you. How, if you had been here, you would have hugged me, joked with me, holding my hand the whole time.
But you weren't.
And then I felt the familiar sadness creeping up on me, tendrils grasping at my shoulders, around my waist. But.
But.
Why should I care?
Here I was, happy and loved, and the memory of you was still tormenting me.
Why should I let it?
You were a distant cloud in the summer sky.
I was grounded.
...
Fire.
It was March.
You sent me an email. Containing a single line.
Give me another chance. Please.
I hesitated.
My immediate, instinctive first thought was to write back saying yes. There was something deep inside me that wanted you, needed you, no matter what you had done.
Just as that popped into my head, I pictured a scene. You, slowly losing interest in me again, breaking up with me over another painful video call again.
My heart had been broken once, and stitched back hastily. Now it was functioning fairly well, but one more hit and it was gone.
Besides, why send only now, three months later? Maybe you'd just broken up with some girlfriend where you lived. Maybe you'd been with someone even before we'd broken up. Maybe a relationship between us was too risky.
I was a phoenix, reborn from the ashes, strong, confident, powerful.
I don't care anymore.
I repeated it over and over.
I don't care.
I don't.
...
Isn't it funny how we treat others as a burden, and when we rid ourselves of them, physically, mentally, and emotionally, we feel free?
Yet, when Mother Nature takes over and does just that for us, we feel pained and wronged, that life is unfair?
Perhaps humanity only likes outcomes that they control. Even if that outcome involves another.
The first time I controlled the outcome. I did feel free, though not completely. I thought that would be the last I saw of you.
I was wrong. There was a second time.
The second time It controlled the outcome, and I was devastated.
We really should appreciate life more, shouldn't we?
We are such fragile creatures.
Each and every one of us.
