#UnsentLetters: The Weeks After I Lost You
The first week that I lost you, I stopped looking at the mirror. Because when I did, I could only see a person you no longer loved.
I was quiet for days on end because there were no words for what it felt like when my heart was ripped out of my chest. When I could speak, it was an endless succession of apologies. I'm sorry I'm not enough. I'm sorry you don't want to stay. I'm sorry you don't love me anymore.
The second week, I started talking toall of my friends. But their presence just made your absence hurt even more. Whenever I looked at the mirror, I could only see what youwalked away from.
I went back on all our conversations, searching for signs I might've missed, hinting that you no longer wanted to be with me. I found nothing, only myself wishing you were still here. Wishing you had never left. Wishing I could hear you say "I love you," one last time.
The third week, I started picking up the pieces. I realized that if I didn't like what I saw in the mirror, I should just stop looking.
You left and I felt like there was none of me left. But I was a person before you and still a person after you and that person deserves to be happy. I erased every last bit of you out of my life. I scrubbed so hard that parts of me disappeared too. This is how I move forward. This is how I convince myself I'm okay without you. This is how I fake it 'til I make it.
The fourth week, I started listening to our songs again. I cried but I told myself that these are the last tears I'm shedding for you. I looked in the mirror and saw the person I wanted to be.
I reconstructed myself from all the love you no longer wanted. I reclaimed the things Iloved that I couldn't touch anymore because I shared them with you and dusted your identity off of my memories. I thought more and felt less. I stopped thinking about you. Ibegan dreaming of things that did include you. I lived my life for myself.
The fifth week, I went out with the boy I told you about. He looks dead inside but he makes me feel alive. He never asks about you, I never tell him either. But he holds me because he knows I need it. He wants to know why I am the way I am but I can't tell him it's because of you. I look in the mirror and see all the ways I've tried to change me.
He probably knows I've been hurt, but this doesn't stop him from trying. He takes my hand in his and I could almost swear it's the safest place in the world. He keeps me close enough just in case I run away again. He sees me. He understands. He stays.
I don't know how long it's been since I last heard your voice. On our last phone call, Itried to make it hurt less by pretending you were only leaving for school, not for good. But it hurt just the same. I can't remember what your voice sounds like anymore, but when someone says sweetheart, I still turn around and look for you. I can't recall what it felt like when you told me you loved me, but when people talk of love, I still think of you. But I can promise that this is the last time I'm writing about you. – Rappler.com
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