I can’t find the words to talk about you yet. I want to. I need to, but every time I try it turns into a jumble. On my last attempt of analysis my words turned into a very melodramatic space analogy in which I likened you to a black hole and described the day we first kissed as being like the event horizon…the point of no return. The stretching, the breaking down atom by atom. I read it back and heartily laughed out loud to myself, although not as hard as I am sure future me would have, had I not deleted it there and then. Alright, Rebecca. Chill. You are neither Stephen Hawking nor William Shakespeare. No need for your cosmic romanticism. It won’t change things will it…it just makes you sound like a bit of a twat. Also, we didn’t really have a first kiss, did we? Maybe that was the problem. All or nothing isn’t a great start.
I hate that I saw you coming. I hate that I had to make a choice; let you pass and quietly watch you fall for someone else, or speak up before either of us were ready. I found the words then but maybe I shouldn’t have.
I suppose it is hard to find the words to describe a situation when it hasn’t done playing out. Like trying to guess the ending of a book before it has been written. Our love has felt like a year long debate with no closing argument. It never feels like the end with you. But is it? Is this it now?
I don’t know.
I don’t know, I don’t know. I wish I knew. I wish I could find the words to summarize you. Then I might just understand why I can’t move on.
Your best friend found the words to break it to me that you had moved on, though. Or I at least you were trying. A stunned silence from me followed by hours of torture. It was happening right there and then. In the exact moment I sipped my IPA and exactly one hour after we parted last. I didn’t understand, after 12 hours of kind words and smiling, why the last few minutes were filled with silence and aggression. You weren’t using words at me then. I asked you to, I needed them to understand you. But you didn’t offer me any and now I realize that you are terrible with words too. And with the truth. You aren’t great with that either.
So many others have explained heartache in words. For me then and there in the pub as your friend stopped me in my tracks, stopped me in my flow of loving words about you, all I had was stunned silence. Shocked quiet followed by an evening of contorting in and out of a ball. Pain for me has no words, just movements. And as I twist and compress and pound and stretch I am thinking that the black hole analogy wasn’t so stupid after all.
I could have used words to ruin it for you. I could have text you, called you, screamed at you, written a note and left it in your empty bedroom poisonously lit by fairy lights and seedy intentions. I didn’t. Those words would only make things worse. I had to let you do it. So I said nothing. I quietly let you go.
I might never have the words to explain this era of my life. Or maybe I will. Maybe they will come to me when I am walking through the park in 6 months time, or maybe when my head is in the lap of someone who fills all the blank spaces you left me with. Maybe. But for now, the only important word for us is goodbye. I just need to remember what it means.