They Don’t Talk Anymore

Funny how he remembered what day it is tomorrow.

He sits on his hotel room, gazing through the damp white ceiling above. He’s confused. After everything he felt while he was trying like hell to forget her, he still finds some space between his awfully occupied head to remember the small things.

But as the saying goes, devil is in the details. Those smallest, lamest, most mundane memories were the ones who terrorize the most. They made everything feel awful. He couldn’t wake up late without remembering her used-to-be alarm texts. He couldn’t listen to his favorite musician without remembering that she really despises them. He couldn’t even drive through his favorite city without realizing that this is the route they took back then.

He scoffs at his own reflection. He knows that this is pathetic and lame. But it doesn’t mean that it isn’t real. He’s stuck while she is already a million steps ahead with her new couple getaways and romantic selfies — the one that doesn’t involve him.

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But at the same time, he knows what he wants now. After all the late-nights and the solitude, he finally accepted that it’s not her that he wants.

She is happy now. At least that’s what it looked like to him. And it doesn’t matter. He wishes all the best for her, and wishes that the next time he meets her she’ll be just another face in the crowd. That tomorrow and for the rest of his life, he’ll be happy by himself and someone else.

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