subject line: it's been 8 months.



It’s been eight months. Eight months means I should be entirely over you by now. Eight months means you shouldn’t cross my mind. Eight months means that I shouldn’t catch myself checking if the blue car that pulled onto my street is yours. But I still do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m over you. We weren’t compatible, you didn’t love me right, and I was the worst version of myself when I was around you. But this is the time of year where everyone has someone they’re planning on kissing at midnight on New Years Eve. And this is the time of the year for thinking remisicence and nostalgia. So, though it’s actually been a good year, I’m still busy remembering the way you left me 8 months ago and never looked back. Not once.

And that’s what still gets me after all this time. One day, you’re holding my hand in your car, kissing me at stoplights, and calling me baby, and the next day you’re driving me home and saying, “I don’t feel the same anymore, but we can still be friends.” And then after that, after I spent an evening that should have been fun ugly crying in the passenger seat of your car, wrapping arm around your neck and never wanting to let go as I miserably refused to step out of your car, after that you were absolutely gone.

You should know that I don’t want you back, I just want to know that I ever meant anything to you. Because you should know that walking away like that makes a girl feel disposable and forgettable and I’m praying you don’t make the next one feel like that. I deserved better. But maybe I’ll pass you someday in this too small town and I won’t speak a word of any of this to you. I’ll smile, say hi, and walk away. Because now it’s my turn. Now, I can.

Here I am, eight months later, still thinking of you on occasion, but stronger than I could have ever believed. Happy holiday season— from the parts of me that are forgiving and kind, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope you choose to walk into it better.