Seriously. Did you pack up my heart and take it with you when you left?
I understood that it would take time to get over you. I’ve made my peace with that; and honestly I’ve made my way through most of the actual “getting over you” part as well. I’ve done good. I’m proud of myself. No drunk dials. No texts or calls begging you to give us another chance. Sure, I’ve spent time looking at pictures of us and the few videos I took of you. I’ve been tempted to reach out, to call or text. But I accepted that as a normal part of the process. I didn’t beat myself up about it or berate myself for it. I accept myself as human.
Well okay. There was that one time that I used the toothbrush you left to feel close to you, as if rubbing your DNA on mine would make me feel the way I felt when you rubbed your hands through my hair or over my body. That was a little weird.
But what’s a breakup without a little temporary insanity?
But here’s the thing. I’ve found someone new, someone that likes me, and I really should like them back…but I feel nothing. No thrill of attraction, no wondering why she’s taken me so long to text her back, no jealousy when the thought of her with someone else comes to mind. I went a long way down the road of thinking that this was simply maturation. Maybe I’m growing up to a point where I don’t put too much emphasis on a relationship or stake too much happiness on whether this person responds in a way that I would want. Maybe I realized that this is too much power to give to someone else, especially to someone who is essentially still a stranger. But that’s not like me. I’m still me, immature, flailing-about me, moody and depressed and so fucking needy. So what, then, is it?
That leads me back to my first thought. Did you take my heart with you when you left? It’s the only logical explanation. I understand that you probably didn’t mean to. You must have absent-mindedly shoved it in your brown and blue striped bag when you packed your hair ties and your leggings. You wouldn’t take it on purpose, because I know that you want me to be happy and to love and be loved again.
So really I’m just hoping you can check your bag, check it thoroughly, for my misplaced heart. It’s tiny, and malformed, but if you listen closely you can still hear it beating. If your bag is in your room, I bet you can pause right now, and become completely still, and hear it even now. Tell you what, we can meet for coffee and you can bring it. We’ll give each other an awkward side hug and I’ll insist on buying you a Yerba Mate and we’ll sit and talk and take special care to avoid certain topics and then we’ll stand up together and side hug again and then you can give me your heart back.
Excuse me, my heart. You can give me my heart back.