I’ll never be able to truly forget the way your eyes lit up when you told me your favorite song or expressed your love for the color green, yet I’m beginning to feel comfortable with the notion that maybe I’ve moved on from the thing that’s plagued my existence all year. I sense the hole you left in my mind filling with flora and fauna and sweet memories of small town sunset drives with the lumineers playing softly through the car radio. I suspect the melancholic heaviness in my chest being lifted. Sometimes I still pass the picnic tables where we used to sit and trade secrets of the universe, and I feel peace. I don’t miss any of your curt texts or sporadic disappearances from the face of the earth. I refuse to envy those you choose to dedicate your valuable time to.
You have no power over me any longer. You are not the hero in this story – I am.
I think I’m over it.