Unconsciously, you started feeling sad again. Although you'd convinced yourself several times that it wouldn't work, you just couldn't help but feel sorry for the failed relationship. You were pretty positive you made the right decision, and while weeks ago, you were already certain you'd moved on, it still came down to the fact that perhaps there's really no such thing as fully moving on. And that the closest you could get to it was being almost over that person.
It was the first time in months since you had more than eight hours of sleep. You remember cuddling yourself to dreamland last night right after dinner. It felt damn good to wake up at four in the morning - the sun wasn't in sight yet, the air was sorta chilly, and for the first time, the thought of rushing to school (late) or doing something to beat a deadline didn't occupy your mind upon waking up. It was the second week of September, and though the semester was drawing to a close, things were surprisingly stress-free.
You reached for a book you've been trying to finish for more than a couple of months now. It was a supposedly postmodern, gay novel with scandalous periwinkle blue covers and pictures of two middle-age guys cuddling. You're almost halfway through the book: now you read as the main character and his ex lied in their usual spoon position while listening to some music. Their spoon position.
You felt a sudden twitch of pain.
You remember you also had your usual spoon position. The few times you've slept over at his house, you'd sleep like this. Him hugging you from behind while you both enjoy cozy music from his computer. This was how you'd be positioned before saying your good night's and giving (and getting) your good night kisses. This was how you'd wake up, too - still in his arms, still with the music, still together.
Then Someone decided to join in on the fun. You heard your song being played out loud by your next-door neighbor. Who on earth would be playing such a sappy love song at five in the morning, your inner voice asked. And at this lovely moment too, you sarcastically added.
Unconsciously, you started feeling sad again. Although you'd convinced yourself several times that it wouldn't work, you just couldn't help but feel sorry for the failed relationship. You were pretty positive you made the right decision, and while weeks ago, you were already certain you'd moved on, it still came down to the fact that perhaps there's really no such thing as fully moving on. And that the closest you could get to it was being almost over that person.
Then you received a text message from the person who made it easier for you to let go. He showed you that although love wasn't constantly trouble-free, it doesn't have to be perpetually painful and difficult either. And quite importantly, he was willing to wait. You smiled and prepared to reach for the phone so you could call him up right away. You bookmarked the page where you stopped reading. The song from next door, meanwhile, got stuck.
Pirated, sheesh, you hissed.
The moment he picked up, even before saying hello, you cried, "Thank you!"
And you meant it absolutely.
It was the first time in months since you had more than eight hours of sleep. You remember cuddling yourself to dreamland last night right after dinner. It felt damn good to wake up at four in the morning - the sun wasn't in sight yet, the air was sorta chilly, and for the first time, the thought of rushing to school (late) or doing something to beat a deadline didn't occupy your mind upon waking up. It was the second week of September, and though the semester was drawing to a close, things were surprisingly stress-free.
You reached for a book you've been trying to finish for more than a couple of months now. It was a supposedly postmodern, gay novel with scandalous periwinkle blue covers and pictures of two middle-age guys cuddling. You're almost halfway through the book: now you read as the main character and his ex lied in their usual spoon position while listening to some music. Their spoon position.
You felt a sudden twitch of pain.
You remember you also had your usual spoon position. The few times you've slept over at his house, you'd sleep like this. Him hugging you from behind while you both enjoy cozy music from his computer. This was how you'd be positioned before saying your good night's and giving (and getting) your good night kisses. This was how you'd wake up, too - still in his arms, still with the music, still together.
Then Someone decided to join in on the fun. You heard your song being played out loud by your next-door neighbor. Who on earth would be playing such a sappy love song at five in the morning, your inner voice asked. And at this lovely moment too, you sarcastically added.
Unconsciously, you started feeling sad again. Although you'd convinced yourself several times that it wouldn't work, you just couldn't help but feel sorry for the failed relationship. You were pretty positive you made the right decision, and while weeks ago, you were already certain you'd moved on, it still came down to the fact that perhaps there's really no such thing as fully moving on. And that the closest you could get to it was being almost over that person.
Then you received a text message from the person who made it easier for you to let go. He showed you that although love wasn't constantly trouble-free, it doesn't have to be perpetually painful and difficult either. And quite importantly, he was willing to wait. You smiled and prepared to reach for the phone so you could call him up right away. You bookmarked the page where you stopped reading. The song from next door, meanwhile, got stuck.
Pirated, sheesh, you hissed.
The moment he picked up, even before saying hello, you cried, "Thank you!"
And you meant it absolutely.
