Apparently, I’m Still Not Over You

It’s funny how healing can make a fucking liar out of you.

Because I really thought I was over you.

Not in the dramatic “I never think about you anymore” kind of way. I knew there were still memories. I knew certain songs would always carry pieces of you. I knew there would probably always be some tiny corner of my heart that remembered what we were.

But I thought I had finally reached the point where remembering you didn’t hurt anymore.

Apparently, I was fucking wrong.

Because here I am.

On a completely random Saturday night.

It’s 1 a.m.

Nothing happened.

You didn’t text me.

I didn’t see you.

Nobody mentioned your name.

There wasn’t some huge, dramatic trigger that sent me spiraling.

My brain just casually decided to pull you out of whatever dusty little box I thought I had successfully shoved you into.

And suddenly, I miss you.

Not the watered-down version of missing someone where you smile at an old memory and keep moving.

I mean I fucking miss you.

The kind that sits heavy in your chest.

The kind that makes you stare at your phone knowing damn well there’s nothing there.

The kind that makes you wonder what you’re doing right now.

Whether you ever think about me.

Whether you ever have nights like this too.

Whether there are moments when my name randomly crosses your mind and, just for a second, you feel that same stupid ache.

And maybe the hardest part is realizing that somewhere along the way, I confused functioning without you with being over you.

Those aren’t the same thing.

I learned how to wake up without expecting your name on my phone.

I learned how to get through my days without telling you everything that happened.

I laughed again.

I stayed busy.

I worked.

I took care of everything and everyone.

I talked to other people.

I made plans.

I kept moving.

And because my life continued, I assumed my heart had too.

But apparently my heart has been standing somewhere behind me this entire fucking time.

Still holding pieces of you.

Still waiting for an explanation it may never get.

Still grieving something I keep insisting I’m done grieving.

And God, that pisses me off.

Because I don’t want to miss you anymore.

I don’t want some random Saturday night to have the power to turn me back into the version of myself that wonders why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.

I don’t want to wonder what would happen if you texted me right now.

I especially don’t want to admit that some embarrassingly soft part of me knows exactly what I’d feel if your name suddenly appeared on my screen.

My heart would fucking drop.

After all this time.

After everything.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

Realizing I haven’t moved nearly as far away from you emotionally as I thought I had.

I just got really fucking good at distracting myself.

Maybe healing isn’t this clean, beautiful thing everyone makes it sound like.

Maybe you can be okay for weeks and still cry over them on a Saturday night.

Maybe you can genuinely want to move forward while simultaneously wishing you could go backward for five fucking minutes.

Maybe you can know someone isn’t yours anymore and still love them.

Maybe you can understand exactly why something ended and still wish like hell it hadn’t.

Maybe progress doesn’t disappear just because tonight hurts.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that tonight, at 1 a.m., I finally stopped lying to myself.

I’m not over you.

Not completely.

Maybe not even fucking close.

And I hate admitting that because I’ve worked so hard to become someone who doesn’t need an explanation, a goodbye, another conversation, or one last chance.

But underneath all that strength is still a girl who cared about you more than she probably should have.

A girl who believed you.

A girl who pictured things she probably shouldn’t have pictured.

A girl who gave you parts of herself she doesn’t hand out easily.

And apparently she’s still grieving.

So tonight, I’m going to let her.

I’m not going to text you.

I’m not going to chase you.

I’m not going to reopen doors that nearly destroyed me when they closed.

But I’m also not going to sit here and pretend I don’t give a fuck when clearly I still do.

I’ll miss you tonight.

I’ll let it hurt.

I’ll let myself remember.

And tomorrow, I’ll get up and keep moving again.

Because maybe being over someone isn’t waking up one morning and magically feeling nothing.

Maybe it’s having nights like this and choosing yourself anyway.

Even when your heart is still whispering their fucking name.

And apparently, mine still is.

— The Girl Behind the Chaos