I should be crying hard. But for some reason I can’t let it out.
You know, for all the things we did. The memories created. For the things we should have said to each other but we did not. I now know and understand that letting go killed you emotionally, too. As it did me. Well, lesson learnt: avoid taking decisions when you are angry. Or unstable. Or whatever.
I should be letting the hurt go completely. And I have tried.
Now, the hurt stems from looking at things with a renewed perspective, being objective and realising my role in this episode. That I ought to have, given my intelligence, dealt with the pain much better than I did. And of course, there’s little use wailing over spilt milk. Still, I can’t seem to let this go.
I should be sailing through this without problems.
Yes. Then it dawns on me that life has no manual from which to refer when you get stuck. It never is a straight uninterrupted line, as it were. Now I think about all the things we should have done but didn’t get around to doing them. All the things you demanded from me so I can be a better man. I imagine how things will be panning out between us as I write this. As of this very moment. There’s a conflict brewing within me: how am I feeling all these things when I thought I had moved on? Should I be feeling guilty about it?
I could easily hate you. I don’t know why I can’t.
I suppose getting some distance from the situation has since revealed a lot of things I never considered. Things I never wanted to admit then. It now seems to me that we should have spoken things through. Why am I thinking this? I don’t really know.
I should be…
But I can’t stop thinking about you.
It’s never been easy forgetting your impact on me. I have since figured that feelings, whatever they may be, never materialise out of nothing. Because it’s easy to convince ourselves of what we want to believe we are feeling right now — effectively lying to ourselves. And then the true reflection of what you feel starts to seep through your heart, contradicting you somewhat. How to deal with it isn’t to feel dumbfounded or even guilty.
I should be feeling bad, like a fool even, for realising I still love you.
But I won’t.