Picture Credit: hdwallpapersrocks.com
“I broke up with her."
It's two months later and I receive this message, out of the blue. Two months since the day you said "She's the one."
Two months since the day my world came crashing down around me. Two months and nine days, to be precise, since we last spoke. Since I last heard your voice, saw your picture and gave myself another mark.
They are fading now, the marks. And so are your memories. The sound of your amused chuckles. Your irritated Hmm's. Your expectant silences. Your smell, the freckles in your eyes and your slightly upturned nose. They still haunt me sometimes, but they're more like flashes of another lifetime now.
Time heals all wounds, they say. It’s kind of true. But I find time more like a temporary band-aid. Numbs the wound, makes me oblivious to the pain, for a while. But then on a happy Sunday morning, a tall stranger appears in the corner of my eye. He walks past me and I find he’s even wearing the same cologne as you. I can’t help but turn around and stare at him. I can’t help but hope. I keep staring, but he remains a stranger. And that is the moment it feels like somebody suddenly ripped off the band-aid. Raw, unadulterated pain grips me. And it’s all I could do to not break down, right there. I find a quiet corner and with shaking hands and breaths, take out my phone to look at your picture, just one more time, like a junkie taking that metaphorical 'one last hit’. But I never get it.
With a sigh, I remember.
I deleted all your pictures, all your texts, anything that could connect me to you. Anything that could remind me of you. Of us. Even your favourite song. Because I couldn’t listen to it without feeling like somebody punched me in the stomach, hard, like they show in those movies.
It's 10 at night, three days later. And I'm blissfully numb. Reading a nice book, the radio playing in the background. And it's only after the song ends that I realise, it was your favourite song. My breath didn't hitch, there was no searing pain in my abdomen, no hollow feeling in my heart.
And thus, today is special. Today is the day I took my last hit. Today is the day I looked at your picture, after ages, with a hint of a smile. Today is the day I wrote you my last letter. The last of a hundred and thirteen letters that are never going to get posted.
Today is the day I forgive you.
Because today is the day, I actually got over you.