So I guess this is the ending of a beautiful mistake.
Don't ask. Just. Don't ask. I've found myself reverting back to an old standby. When the going gets tough, I make like an ostrich and stick my head in the fucking sand. I find that it works well for me. Better than the other old standby, at least. Speaking of. Two years last Thursday. I believe that entitles me to use the phrase, "I win."
I got his ring back. When I saw the package sitting on the kitchen table, this inconspicous little brown envelope amongst bills and junkmail, my first instinct was to just pitch it. But I couldn't do it. That ring is the last remnant of something that dominated my life for almost two years. Something that, paradoxically, gave me some of the best and worst memories I'll ever have. The ring, and it's companion that I wore on my own pinkie--the one that his was made to match--are tucked safely away in a box in my closet. I guess, I don't know. There was a part of me that really believed that this was like every other time we broke up, even though I professed exactly the opposite. Him sending me that ring back, it was like a punch in the fucking face. Not a slap. No, it wasn't that gentle. It's really over this time. Time to move on, time to heal, all that other mindless post breakup psychobabble. There's no moving on, really. But hell, I've made it through worse.
I think it really fucking hit me tonight. Yeah, I did watch the E! True Hollywood special on myself and Matt. And it wasn't so much the special itself--though I have to admit that it did produce this familiar ache in my chest to watch myself and him when everything was golden. But no, it wasn't really that. It was the fact that the show was one of those things that we would've watched together, laughing at the fact that they reported basically nothing that wasn't already known, rolling our eyes over the random inaccuracies and speculative bullshit. But, well. Yeah.
Obviously, there's a lot of shit to be talked about right now. However, I have more pressing issues to worry about right now. Someone's expecting me, and I wouldn't want to disappoint.
I got his ring back. When I saw the package sitting on the kitchen table, this inconspicous little brown envelope amongst bills and junkmail, my first instinct was to just pitch it. But I couldn't do it. That ring is the last remnant of something that dominated my life for almost two years. Something that, paradoxically, gave me some of the best and worst memories I'll ever have. The ring, and it's companion that I wore on my own pinkie--the one that his was made to match--are tucked safely away in a box in my closet. I guess, I don't know. There was a part of me that really believed that this was like every other time we broke up, even though I professed exactly the opposite. Him sending me that ring back, it was like a punch in the fucking face. Not a slap. No, it wasn't that gentle. It's really over this time. Time to move on, time to heal, all that other mindless post breakup psychobabble. There's no moving on, really. But hell, I've made it through worse.
I think it really fucking hit me tonight. Yeah, I did watch the E! True Hollywood special on myself and Matt. And it wasn't so much the special itself--though I have to admit that it did produce this familiar ache in my chest to watch myself and him when everything was golden. But no, it wasn't really that. It was the fact that the show was one of those things that we would've watched together, laughing at the fact that they reported basically nothing that wasn't already known, rolling our eyes over the random inaccuracies and speculative bullshit. But, well. Yeah.
Obviously, there's a lot of shit to be talked about right now. However, I have more pressing issues to worry about right now. Someone's expecting me, and I wouldn't want to disappoint.