Random things breaking your heart are the worst. Like seeing a picture or just some stupid text somewhere or worse – something so totally, utterly random that there isn’t even the slightest connection – still, it reminds me. Of a memory I harbour, even though I do not want to. Still, it makes me remember and in the progress breaks my heart.
It really, honestly is so fucking ridiculous that I can’t even make up a word to describe it. Only that it freaks me out. But other than that, I got nothing.
And I guess that is the problem.
Not you or the idea of you. Not even the stupid ever-nagging question: “What could have been?” Because the answer – the only honest one – is: Nothing.
You never cared. You never looked back. You never even wondered. But me, stupid me, I always did. I waited – hoped – for nothing to transform itself into something. And for one second, one incredibly magical but short moment – I actually believed it could.
And right then you violently slammed all doors shut at once. You slammed them right into my face. Leaving me out in the cold. With nothing.
So yeah, I got it. I finally, really, actually did. And I know it might take a bit, but at some point I will make it back into the sun. Maybe even find something like love again.
But it will never be you.
And that’s why those random things will keep breaking my heart. They will get fewer, less frequently, but never truly go away.
Because – and that’s what keeps making me so fucking mad – there is no getting over this love. No way to get over what could have been. But the worst part is: I know you know this, too.
You just won’t ever admit it.