Break ups aren’t easy, even when they are what you wanted. This person who was this huge part of your life is suddenly gone. You have to rediscover your routine, your sleep, your meals. Everything you used to do together is now alone. There’s no one to talk to about your day, no one to tell you that you look pretty today. No one to soothe when you feel anxious.
It may have been for good reasons but that doesn’t mean you aren’t changed by it. Aren’t impacted and feeling those impacts every day. You crave their company, their mere presence in your space, even though previously it drove you bonkers. You crave touch, soft skin, a hand caressing your back.
It hurts most when you realise they have moved on already. Like it didn’t matter. They are fucking someone new within days of it ending, another someone new a week after that. You know this because you live close by, forced to see the car of their fuck as you go anywhere. You change your route to avoid seeing it.
It saps your energy for hours after, your head robbing you of your other senses. You convince yourself of how forgettable you are, how ordinary and worthless.
There was love, had been love, you thought. Sex isn’t love, at least for me, but love always makes it harder. I can fuck someone I don’t love, but I can’t fuck someone if I love someone else. It’s why Married caused so much chaos in my life. I loved him and it made it impossible to fuck other people. My relationships would stall and our sex life would dry up when I realised I still loved him.
It was wasted, of course, it always was. Much as I pounded like waves, he was the rocks, unwavering, stoic, unmoved by my feelings.
Now he fucks her.
Now he fucks her, the latest in a long list of women.
And I’m in the same place. The same place I’ve been for years, in circles, turning around and around.