I never watched the last episode of Stranger Things 2 (what kind of a sadist breaks up with someone right after watching the second-to-last episode of a show anyway? I mean, could it just not have waited?)
But someday, I’ll rewatch the whole season without you.
I scan the crowd for your face on my way to class. Is it weird that I just realized one-third of the male population looks like you (dark hair and glasses)? I jump every time I come across one, and when it’s actually you, I freeze for a moment. You keep walking.
Don’t worry, I’m still learning how to let go. Baby steps. Someday, my silhouette will fade into the darkness.
I know you know I spend my entire life at the Starbucks across from my dorm. I know you knew I’ll be in here, having a peaceful day and minding my own business, when you waltzed in. I wonder if I’m good at pretending, I wonder if you can tell I’m breaking.
But I won’t stop coming here. Someday, I’ll even smile and wave. For now, let me bury my head in this book I’m just so interested in reading. And I’d tell you all about it if we were talking.
I move on pretty quick, that’s what I tell everyone. That’s what I show everyone. I hooked up with a stranger a week after we broke up; he left too – and I’m okay with that.
Because every time he left, I’d sit on the floor and listen to sad playlists. Someday, I’ll let myself heal instead of putting on a mask each time. I’ll actually be over you, and I won’t need to prove it to myself, or you, or anyone.
I’ve been lonelier than ever. I’ve been more homesick than ever, and I count down the days until winter break, and try not to break down while facetiming my mom. She asks about you, I say I need to go.
Someday (in five days, to be specific), I’ll be home, and I’ll be okay. No place in home would remind me of you, no café back home holds memories of us. A place that’s mine entirely, untainted and safe.
I went on a date. With your friend (yes, the one I met at your apartment, when we were wasted). He’s nice, but I didn’t enjoy it. He’d tell me facts about himself, I’d think of you, and feel awful. I kept to myself, held myself back, awkwardly giggled, while he carried the conversation.
Someday, I won’t be afraid of opening up, and opening up won’t lead to downfall. I won’t think of you.
It’s been a month since well, you. I met a new guy, and as messed up as this sounds, he’s so much like you. It’s eerie. You have the same humor (or lack thereof, since neither of you laugh at my jokes), interests and way of speaking. He even looks like you (refer to the second thing on this list). I tell him completely unnecessary things I’d have otherwise said to you, he responds like you would.
In a sick, hilarious way, it’s like you’re back into my life. It’s like the Ross-Russ scenario in Friends. Someday, I won’t long for Ross.
It’s finals week, and I want to rant to you about math. I want to tell you how great my women’s studies paper was. I want to celebrate with you, before parting ways for winter break. Home. But I’m here, writing everything I’ve wanted to say to you in the past month.
Someday, I won’t have anything to say to you. I’d sit down to write, or even stare at your face, and have absolutely nothing to say. Just like you.
Someday, I won’t be waiting for someday.