I've cried.
And cried.
And cried.
And then I stopped, because I couldn't heave another sob out of my body, because I was too tired, too weary, too encompassed in my grief that I physically could not react to the situation anymore. I stopped, not because I wanted to, but because it was the only thing I could do. I don't feel the hurt anymore, because I can't.
I can't let myself.
It ended.
And what's funny, is that I kind of went into the night with that intention in mind. I had plans to call it off, to break it up, because it had been a rough two and a half weeks, because the communication had died down, because I had begun to feel unneeded, unwanted. I had prepped this whole speech about how I needed to be in something where I knew how the other person felt, how I needed to know that he cared about me as much as I did him, how I liked him too much for my comfort, and I wasn't prepared to continue to unless I knew he cared as much.
I never found out, really, the extent of his feelings for me. I don't know, for a fact, whether it is really true, that he really did care about me, that he really did feel about me the way he said he felt about me.
I do know now, however, that I didn't feel the way I said I did about him. I told him I cared about him, a lot, that I really liked him. What I didn't tell him was that he had become a part of my life, that I had begun to let him in, that I was slowly coming out from behind my wall, the wall that I had so arduously constructed over my teenage years to keep myself from ever feeling vulnerable. I didn't tell him that a small part of me had become attached to his presence, had likened myself to his being, had gotten situated with his ideals and interests, and had adopted some of them for the sake of wanting to be with him.
I didn't tell him that, in a small, tiny, self-loathing kind of way, I had begun to love him. And I didn't tell him these things, not because I was afraid, but because I didn't know. I didn't realize how much it would hurt until it started to hurt, until he walked out of my life.
And maybe, maybe I am ridiculous, and silly, for feeling so much after such a short period of time. But I can't help it. I can't change the way my brain has decided to process this situation, I can't alter the way my amygdala reacts to the varying hormones that are coursing through my body. I can't not feel the way I feel.
But it's too late.
Because now it's no longer about how much time we have for each other. It's not about how little we'd be able to see each other due to our schedules clashing. He got offered a job, a position with a huge possibility for growth and development. Except it's in Australia.
Motherfucking, goddamn, Australia.
8,000 miles. 8,000 godforsaken miles. Even Vanessa Carlton would only walk an 8th of that for true love, so what do I even have to go by? And that's just it. Nothing. I have nothing to go by, because we're young, and we've got different lives and different tasks and different goals and nothing, nothing is matching up, and the moment things started to feel okay, the moment I found an inch of happiness, the world decided to take, not one mile, but 8,000. And for each of those miles is a reason why this had to end, because there's no way, not this early on in life, or in this relationship we had, that we could have worked it out.
I tried. I tried to hold the tears in. I support his decision, I honestly do, in taking this job. It would have been moronic had he decided not to go, because it really is an opportunity of a lifetime, while I'm really just another girl, another insignificant aspect of his life, a series of events that he will repeat again in the coming months and years.
And while there is a part of me that wished I had held on, I know it's better that I didn't. I know it's better that I cut things off now, because the worst thing that could happen is for us to get emotionally invested before such a big move.
The only problem is, that I'm already emotionally invested, and I'm not okay. I'm not fine. I'm not happy with this decision, and I do want to hold on, even if it's unrealistic.
But I can't. I can't, I won't, because that's childish and irrational. I'm not okay, but I will be. All I need is some distance, and time.
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