Moving on is hard, but not doing so does not make me the worst

Last night I couldn’t sleep for a while,

I was thinking about the way we used to drape ourselves on your couch, and drink 3 bottles of sparkling wine. It was August then, and it was so hot in your apartment. The heat would move up and into me, and I didn’t care. I would smoke another cigarette and forget I even existed outside of your apartment. I thought for sure I would die of excitement, I thought these kind of romances don’t happen to me. I would laugh all the time, and become nervous when your leg touched me, a real good kind of nervous. I just wanted to touch you, and listen to all of your stories.

How is it when we really want to move on, all the good memories come flooding back, a gaping hole, sure to be filled with goodness and sweetness and drown you? How is it when you want to remember the bad things, you can’t and all you can remember is the amazing crook of his smile?

I get mad at myself everyday, an uncountable number of times when he pops in my mind.

A rational mind knows you are not right for me.

But the mind in love is not rational.

Moving on takes time, and I will not make myself black and blue for this train moving slowly. I will give myself time, and realize that it is going to hurt, but hurt is a feeling that will accompany me not matter what all of my life in one way or another.

A great article about this:

xx L


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