Over and Done
Friday, May 15, 2015 @ 1:17 PM | 0 comment(s)

An open letter to Great Love:


Hi.

It’s official: I don’t love you anymore. You have to congratulate me for this. You have to commend me on finally admitting to myself that I haven’t any slightest bit of romantic feelings left for you. I know it in my heart. It’s over. The era of you (which spanned for almost five years, bless you) has reached its ending.

I feel so fucking liberated.

Now I’m sure that I was only in love with the idea of you. All the boys back in school and the ones I interact with paled in comparison to you. Maybe that was why I thought I was in love with you – because I haven’t met someone that encompasses my ideal man, except for you. You were everything I wanted in a guy. You’re an achiever with a bad sense of humour, but that was fine. I was so crazy for you. I led myself into believing this fantasy of us. I came into my senses and realized that it’s stupid. How can I be genuinely in love with you when we don’t even meet?

You are still one of the awesomest people I know, but now I will look at you and remember those moments without that painful feeling of being punched to the heart. I will not yearn for you anymore. I will not spend time in my dark room daydreaming what it would be like to hang out and be silly with you, or to hug you and hold your hand. I will only remember you as the guy I fell stupidly in love with for many years and yet nada. Nothing happened.


I don’t miss you anymore. This is the truth. It’s weird. Before, back when I still go googly-eyes on you, I got giddy feelings every time you took notice of me [on Facebook or Twitter]. I actually used to cry with happiness. I treated you like a celebrity. I did subtle things to get your attention. I revered you. It was asinine and ridiculous. And every time I successfully borrowed a portion of your time, I cherished the moments we talked online and kept them, carefully tucking them away in my own little memory bank. Now I don’t give a fuck about that bank. One of these days it will declare bankruptcy.

A few weeks ago, we had a little catching up and it was great and your humour had improved, but it was nothing. I felt nothing. I didn’t jump up and down or run around wildly. My heart didn’t swell. I didn’t cry. Yes, I might have admitted that I got a bit jealous over someone, but that was bullshit. I’m not even sure why I said that. I don’t care what you do anymore. I don’t care if you flirt with other girls. I don’t care if you let others use the nickname I gave you (how dare you). I don’t love you anymore. I don’t even have a crush on you. You have been demoted, my friend. Here, take your things and settle on your new desk on the corner.

It’s not that you’ve changed. It’s not that I have someone else already (how I wish). It’s me. I’ve changed. I’m an adult now and I should make adult decisions (Mom, I want a popsicle). The butterflies migrated, bye; the fire died and turned to ashes; the affection dwindled like the fucking economy. I realized that I don’t have to be this kind of person for a guy. I don’t have to run blindly in an alley that I believed would lead me to you (and vice versa). I don’t have to do things just to make you notice me, and be disappointed when you didn’t. I don’t have to prove myself to you.


It was a good run, and I fell a lot but I learned. But I’m quitting this halfway, because no, I don’t think the finish line is worth it.

I will still call you Great Love (although not in your face), but that name is empty. There’s nothing behind it. You can keep the label because you earned it (add it to your pile of achievements). Congratulations, here’s your medal for giving my heart a rollercoaster ride.

I don’t hate you. I will not unfriend you either (that’s pathetic). I wish you all the best.

Bye.

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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409