I feel like I’ve begun to romanticize falling out of love rather than falling in it. This is probably because the outcome of one tends to be more productive than the other.
I can remember pretty much every night or morning where I’ve had one of those dreaded talks about how things weren’t working out. Sometimes they weren’t so much talks as they were me crying and them being like “Yeah, sorry.” But, having been through this a few times, I’ve learned to instead romanticize the hell out of the steps that come after.
I love deleting text threads. It makes me feel like I’m cleaning without doing any real work. I love when months pass and inevitably they text me again and it’s a fresh new conversation. Bonus points if they think they have to state who they are at this point “Hey its __ …not sure if you still have my number.” I do, but I appreciate the clarification.
I love how it makes me bond twice as strong with whoever is closest to me at the time. I remember one time this guy broke my heart and I didn’t really have anyone super close by that I could lean on right then and there. So I slept over at the apartment of this girl who was barely an acquaintance. We watched Kim Possible: So The Drama together, I slept on a super uncomfortable couch, and we hardly hung out again after that. It was like a one night stand, friendship edition. No way would this have happened had the guy in question been as great as I thought he was. This is a way happier ending though, don’t you think?
I love throwing myself into the post-breakup “project.” It’s usually the gym and a few months after having had my heart broken, I’m in great shape. I love the fact that it gives me endless writing potential and how I feel like Taylor Swift when I write all but their first and last name in the pieces. I love reflecting on what I could have done better. Well, okay, maybe I don’t love that part. But I still do it because it’s part of the process.
And then, the best part of all this, the grand finale, is when I reach the point where it really doesn’t hurt me anymore that it happened and I can start making jokes. I could probably give at least a half hour comedy routine on every dude that’s been even remotely in the picture. Granted, I have my own moments as well (I don’t exclude them in the comedy routine, I play fair).
All this being said, I’m as sentimental as they come. I still have this Scooby Doo keychain my first boyfriend won for me in one of those claw-vending machines on the night of my first kiss. I store it all away in both a figurative and literal box. No matter how badly I got hurt, I don’t throw any of it away because I know this is just adding to the storyline. They are all important and they are also all unimportant.
I’m not sure why I do this. Maybe it’s because I’ve heard that when you meet your forever person, they say you fall in love with them all over again every day. So for now, I’m going to relish in my falling out of love glory. It’s beautiful in its own unique, painful way. If nothing else, it wakes me up to the many wonderful things that there are in life besides romance.
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