The moment it happened, something just didn’t feel right. A nervousness, an intuitive caution sign, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but knew something was wrong; it just took a while to figure out what that was. You never thought you’d be the girl it happened to; you love each other and who would hurt someone they love? At that time though, it was lust and not love on his mind. Remembering the almost nonchalance of his actions, “Baby, she meant nothing”s and constant reassurance that you’re really the one for him. But that’s looking back, and its exactly what every Cosmopolitan article advises against.
Cool air from the open window of your apartment hits, abruptly waking you from a toxic state of remembrance. “Get out of bed. Get dressed. Go outside. Eat.” has become a new mantra for the morning time. It was never this way before him. Before he touched you and made you melt like ice cream in warm hands. Before you exchanged sweet words. Before he placed a false sense of security on your heart. And before he broke it and left you shattered. It wasn’t the fact he did it that bothers you most, but he lied. A drunken fling can hurt, but it’s a one-time thing, which means it can never compare to the knowledge that everything you worked for in a relationship meant nothing to him. He threw that away over the course of three months. Still, you find yourself yearning for his touch, the musk of old aftershave, his aura, the way he lit up a room as soon as he walked in with his charismatic smile and charm that could put anyone- any girl under his power.
“Get your ass out of bed.” a shrill voice demands; it’s coming from the hallway outside of the door. The owner of that shrill, demanding voice is your roommate of two years, and it feels as though it’s been two years too long right now. She’s right though. Light seeps through the curtains and spreads itself amongst the unkempt bedding, or rather, your haven. Mornings are the prettiest time of day, but the thought of enduring the tasks ahead, such as work and leaving your bed, introduce a wave of anxiety, which in order to go forward must be swum against, but still it feels like every day is a losing battle to a rip tide that wants to drag whatever it can reach, down. The thing that people don’t understand about getting your heart broken is not the fact that it hurts, but the fact that it controls every aspect of day to day life, and aftermath leaves you in pieces, which only you are left to pick up in the end.
Yet another day rolls ahead, just like the last, and it’s turned into a ceaseless cycle. But here you are, alive and somewhat well, a stale bread roll was consumed, and as thirst took hold, so was a large glass of water. Inside may be more hollow than before, but what was once carved out can be filled again. You are not your pain, and you are not the one who should be feeling this way. But here you are.
Venturing out into sun-soaked streets brings a warm calmness, and ease to the internal storm which is starting to settle. For a moment the sun catches sight, guiding your vision towards surrounding streets. Slowly but surely, it feels as though the waves of anxiety which once caused a caution, are now becoming calm. You are alive, and somewhat well, and for now, that’s all that matters.