I still think about you. From time to time, I’m still caught up in longing, sadness, regret, pity. Loss, even. As if finally getting away from you meant losing myself. Completely.
Maybe that’s half the truth.
I loved you, so much that even I couldn’t understand, couldn’t fully accept, the magnitude and depth of that love. And you, the recipient, is now gone from my life.
Hence, the feeling of loss.
In its wake, I am left with all of these feelings, still hanging above and below, some of them occasionally crushing down on me. I live my own life now; some nights and some mornings I still find that hard to believe. But these leftover feelings, I still don’t know what to do with them. Or where to put them. Or if they’ll ever be extinguished.
I don’t know.
Something I know: there’s a subtle but very noticeable chill in my heart. I feel it. Sometimes it hurt, sometimes it’s just there, being nothing. It must be the equivalent of a scar after a wound has healed.
Though I doubt that I am healed.
I don’t think I am even halfway there.
Soon, hopefully. Or not; rather, soon, certainly. Because I am beyond tired of hurting because of you, my love. I am beyond tired of hoping, of leaving everything, even my recovery, to chance.
Certainly, I will heal. Certainly, this loss, this chill, they’ll heal, too.