Letting You Go, With Gratitude This Time

I think I’ll always miss you.

I think I’ll always hear that song, walk by that resto-bar, come across a joke I think you’d like, and my mind will immediately think of you. It’s almost instinctive now.

I missed you when you left. I miss you now, months later, even when I’m in a relationship with someone new and someone who actually treats me right. The only difference? I let myself miss you now. I let myself feel. I let myself feel the nerves I felt on that first date, or the exact moment my heart shattered and how the world seems to go on, but I couldn’t. I let myself relive memories and smile.

Now I smile, when I think of you. As opposed to three months ago, when I’d just break every time I heard your name or if someone even remotely looked like you.

I’m not going to lie, when I first met him, he seemed freakishly similar to you. I even made a list! Scribbled down the slightest similarities and I know this sounds messed up – and I was messed up – but I only let him in because he reminded me of you. When I was talking to him, I could pretend it was you and instantly feel better. Then feel so much worse. Because he’s not you, no one is. Except, well, you.

The more I got to know him, I came closer to that realization. That he’s not you. He’s not you at all. Maybe that’s when I truly let myself fall. Maybe I don’t need you, maybe I never did. And I know he’s one of the good ones, just like you, but unlike you, he’s the one for me. He makes me happy, he makes me feel safe. I’m much more comfortable with him than I was with you, I’m more me with him.

Even though it seemed like the end of the world when you left, it wasn’t. As I mentioned, the world seemed to go on. Like you did. And even though it took me way longer than I’d like to admit, I did too.

This isn’t another dramatic “how could you do this to me??????” letter (yes, I find a strange sense of comfort in writing letters I’d never send). I know everyone’s tired of those, I know I am. Maybe the reason I held on for so long, even after I’d healed, was because I liked writing about you, I like sad poetry and prose. But it’s time I let you go, like I should’ve when you actually left. It’s time I let you go because if I keep holding on to the idea of you and obsessing over the pain, it wouldn’t be fair to me. Or him.

But I know I’ll always miss you. Not in a sad way, not in a desperately drunken 2am “I miss you” text way. In the best way, in a “damn, I’m glad I met you” way. Because hey, we didn’t work out, but I did have the best time with you, and wish the absolute best for you. I’m okay with us ending, trust me I am.

Although, if I ever see you on the sidewalk, I’m going to look right through you and walk past you. I think someday I’ll even be able to smile and wave but for now, you’re just a beautiful stranger who seems to haunt me.










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