That’s me, finally letting you go completely

Sometimes you have to let someone go in order to be happy again.

That’s me, how I accept that you leave. I realized that there are no more arguments to be made, no more corners, no pleadings, or deals that I could bet that would make you change your mind and stay.

This is my subtle resignation to our downfall. This is the rift between our two hearts that turned into a valley and devoured us. It’s my acceptance of everything that I can’t bridge.

That’s me, as I finally realize that we don’t get a second chance – not like the last night I spent with you or the last time I told you that I love you or like the first time When I realized that we had drifted apart I know we don’t always get second chances.

I know I can’t turn back the clock to kiss you slower, to love you more, and to stay with you for five extra minutes every morning to wake up next to you.

I know I can’t rewind the story and ask you what was wrong each night, that you came home with a mystery in your eyes but with no answer on your lips. I know we can’t go back

I accepted that I will miss you. That there will be nights when I’ll curl up in bed with a novel and a warm cup of tea and your absence on the left side of the bed is a chasm that keeps growing and devours me. That I’ll see you everywhere for a long time – in the windows on the second floor, in the faces of strangers, in the photos and memories that will still tear my heart apart for months after you’ve left.

I realized that missing you will become a second heartbeat in my body that is strong and pulsating wherever you have been and then left. It’s like a weakened pulse that won’t harmonize with yours for a while.

I know now that my life goes on. I know that one day I will not think of love as a feeling that is exclusive to you and me, as crazy as it may seem to me right now.

At some point, I will meet someone who loves the food you hate and laughs at things you don’t find funny, and who appreciates the things about me that you once left undiscovered. One day I’ll wake up early in the morning next to someone and forget for a moment that it is not your body, the is intertwined with mine.

I know these moments will knock me down – that I need to practice standing on the edge of an abyss without falling into it. I have hope that the discrepancy will shrink over time.

This is my idea: one day I’m getting married and you won’t be there. That the ring that slips on my finger will be chosen by someone else and that the people sitting in the front row with bright eyes and burning hearts will not be your family members.

This is my acceptance of the finite absurdity of knowing that one day I will dedicate my life to someone who is not you and that I may even be happy to do so. One day I will see changes and beginnings as I have never seen them with you.

I know we’re getting old That your life will be huge and important and full of love, but that everything will happen without me. That I won’t be there for your 50

Celebrating your birthday or to toast your last promotion or I’ll snuggle up to you on the nights when the weight of the world is too heavy to carry. That your losses and gains won’t match mine If one day you hold your firstborn child in your arms, I won’t be the one who brought them there.