Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Last Kiss

"And I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes
All that I know is I don't know
How to be something you miss
Never thought we'd have our last kiss
Never imagined we'd end like this
Your name forever the name on my lips

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep
And I'll feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe
And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are
I hope it's nice where you are"
(Swift, 2010)

There are those moments when you just get smacked in the face with the realization that you really don't or didn't mean as much to someone as you thought, or perhaps just hoped, you did. Moments where your breath catches in your throat and tears threaten to sting your eyes, but you struggle to maintain your game face because it doesn't matter to you what they said, or at least it shouldn't matter what they said. You aren't that emotionally invested anymore. The dirty little secret is that you do care, and it rips your heart apart.

It feels like such a personal insult. That they couldn't do certain things with you, but had no problem doing them with someone else. And, I know that I shouldn't take any of it personally, because I was certainly not in their mind at all when they did them; it distinctly wasn't personally directed towards me. It still stings, though, as if they had walked up to me and said, "Hey, you just aren't good enough for me and you are not what I want, and even though I will continue to string you along and pretend to be interested, I really find you about as interesting as a lump of tar." I actually think I would take that statement better. It might prompt an angry response that includes hurling ice cold liquid at said person (I know, immature, yet strangely so satisfying!). I am the one who cherished the feel of their arms around me, who smiled at the gentle rise and fall of their chest as I laid my head against it, and who kissed their skin with loving adoration. Not vice versa. So it should be expected that the thoughts of us would so easily vanish from their mind. But, not mine.

Why is moving on so hard? Things were so much easier when people just disappeared when they were out of your life. Now it's like they are always there, just two clicks away. I guess I just have that selfish wish for an ego boost by thinking they certainly miss me as much as I do them. Yet, in reality, they don't. I was just a blip on the screen of their life, and they have already moved on.

I need to heal. I need to move on.


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