Monday, December 2, 2013


I've been so busy and so distracted lately that I forgot to grieve.

Not that I thought I was over Greg. Though I'm not sure how you define being "over" someone. Are you over him when you no longer want to fall asleep in his arms every night? Or are you over him when the vaguest thought of him doesn't make you want to cry? Maybe you're truly over him when you don't think of him at all.

I'm none of those things sometimes, and at other times I am more than one. I've found it has nothing to do with the time of day, or the music I'm listening to, or how much sleep I got the night before. It just happens, and one moment I'll be at work sipping 7-Eleven coffee, the next minute I'm holding back tears. And there are, maybe, entire days that pass where I don't have a single conscious thought of him.

Perhaps there's not a set definition for getting over someone. You just move on with your life, and as the days slip by, the memories soften and blur. They begin to hurt less. And soon enough, they hardly come at all. There is no line to cross, no moment of being over him. Just like there is no moment of falling in love, or out of it. It's a feeling that builds, is cultivated, and then fades away. For me, anyway. Even when I was hurt by the person I loved, I didn't fall out of love with him in an instant. I didn't suddenly snap out of that reality and into one where my heart wasn't his entirely. 

So I guess I'll never really know exactly when I'm over Greg. There won't be a flash or a moment of clarity. I suppose I'll be minding my own business, doing my own thing, and I'll think of Greg and think -- he doesn't matter now. The feelings will be gone, and I'll realize that I haven't thought of him in weeks or maybe months, and... it will be okay. I'll be happy, and I won't mind. I'll have moved on.

Part of me wants that day to come quickly, but it's a small part. Most of me wants to hold on to these feelings and memories that are still important. That are still raw, and rough, and tender. Five and a half years with someone is a long time. Almost a fifth of my life. It meant so much to me, and it was so happy for so long that I can't bear the thought of it ever not hurting a little, to think about. I can't bear the idea that Greg won't always evoke a physical pain, however small, when I think of him.

But I can't hold onto it forever. And I guess, objectively, I don't want to.

There have been so many distractions. Moving, and new jobs, and dates, and new boys, and becoming overwhelmed with new boys, and withdrawing, and friends who need me, and friends who I need. I haven't had much of a chance to be with myself and grieve.

But here I am now, and I feel like life is finally starting to slow down. Not too much, but just enough for me to breathe. So I think about Greg more and more, because the memories don't hurt as much as they did. They squeeze but they don't pinch, so I let myself remember and cry. It feels so good to cry. It feels so, so good. 

I miss him so much. I will never have anything but love for him, and fondness, but it was time to move on. So we did. And now I get to grieve.

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