You’re Over Him

A sad song came on the other day. I love sad songs. They can make you feel, so deeply, unlike any kind of upbeat melody you could hear. They cut you internally, right to the core. But this cut was different. I enjoyed the pain. I didn’t want to skip over it, I just listened and enjoyed the melancholy tune and miserable lyrics. And I didn’t think of you while listening, not even for a fleeting moment.

That’s how you know you’re over him.

I kissed another boy. There have been so many in between you and now. When I think of a kiss, I don’t automatically think of your lips. I think of a future man’s lips. I don’t remember your taste or your smell. The details of your laugh and how I could make you smile have faded. They’re tarnished now, turned gray and blurry in my mind.

That’s how you know you’re over him.

Sure, I get lonely sometimes. I see my friends happily with people that they can rest their head on and I wish for that. I see them holding hands down the sidewalk and feel happy for them – but there is a little nagging bruise that reminds me I don’t have that. I see how when she’s in need of something, a glass of water or a comforting hug, he’s there. I wish to find that. But I don’t wish for you back.

That’s how you know you’re over him.

Who doesn’t like rom coms? I can’t help but watch and though I know it’s so unrealistic, I want someone who is that devoted and that in love for me. I want all the messiness, too. The arguments, the tears, the lies, and the too-much truth. I want the madly in love, obsessed, can’t spend a night without you intensity. I look back at what we had, and it wasn’t that. I made mistakes, lots of them. But so did you. I want that crazy kind of  love, but I don’t want it with you.

That’s how you know you’re over him.

I’ve seen you with her. You’re a completely different person than the one I once knew. I’ve seen your lips caress hers and her hands in your hair. I’ve seen her shoot me dirty looks. I’ve seen you actively avoid me. And from all of this, I’ve seen myself grow. I’ve grown into indifference. Indifference about whose lips you kiss or whose bed you share. Indifference about what you do every day or what you think of me. Indifference about you being in or out of my life.

And that’s how you really know you’re over him.

woman stands on mountain over field under cloudy sky at sunrise
Photo by Victor Freitas on Pexels.com

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