James sang, ‘Let it go’. And so I am.

I’ve kept this as a draft for too long. This is me letting go.

I can probably come up with a million insults. I can bring in dozens of  references, edgy remarks and sarcasm, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

Truth is, nothing was ever enough with you. My memories of you are far too many and not quite enough. I was torn between preserving your memory and holding you captive on the walls of my mind, and banishing you from sight and mind and never reminding myself of how funny your eyebrows were.

I’d like to think I was in love with you, but truth is, I never was. I know that now.

Loving you was not a John Green novel, but quite the Bruce Lee movie. I did not fall in love with you, I did not walk into it with my eyes open. You were never my  ‘star-crossed’ lover, never my first love, never my significant other. I’m not sure if you were ever mine. I knew I mattered to you, but I was never sure if I did so in the right way. I never knew what it was that we had.

Now I like to pretend that you were just some lover. Or a crush gone too far.

But that’s alright. You gave me perspective. You taught me something about myself, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. You taught me that it’s not easy for everyone to fall in love, or stay that way. You made me realise that we were all wired differently. You taught me I was, too.

I’d like to believe you know what you taught me, but you probably don’t. You’ll never see this – these words.

But these words are something else I’d like to thank you for. I never knew these words before you. These words didn’t come before. But now they do. Initially, they came on Coldplay nights when my vision was too blurry from tears, but now they come like the honey-flavored remarks came to your mouth. Always, and on point.

I began writing about you, but now that I look at you, I’m not too sure if they were ever about you. Now I write because the words come. Now I write not because I’m ‘heartbroken’ (I never have been, I realize now), but because I do not know a better way to let some things go. I write about different things now. And these words feel like the consolation prize for being as messed up as I am.

You’ve changed, so have I. You raised the bar for being a lot of things I’d rather not mention, but I’m no walk in the park either.

I’ve fought with you, given you a piece of my mind, and laughed at you time and again. But now I’d like to thank you.

Thank you for entering my life, and more importantly, for leaving. I know I’m going to see you soon, but this is where, after three years, I kiss your memory goodbye.

Our stories now lie in scribbled conversations and never-rhyming verses in the backs of notebooks, but don’t worry. I promise you I’ll keep them safe, and away from sight.

 

 

 

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