I texted my group of friends a pic of a convo I’ve been carrying on with this guy from an online dating site. He’s super clever, possibly cute (you never can tell until you meet), and we’re meeting for coffee Thursday.
One friend replied, “yay! I’m glad you’re over JBag.”
And I wanted to write back…no. I’m not. I’m just trying to pretend like I am. To pretend like I don’t think about him multiple times a day, like certain songs don’t make me want to curl up in a ball and cry (sometimes I do. Scarcely, but it’s still a thing, or at least it was as of last week).
And that’s how I know. It was true love. Is true love. Because isn’t that what true love is? It never goes away.
I’m not saying he never goes away, because he has…he is gone from my life. He doesn’t know my day-to-day, doesn’t know I’m contemplating quitting my job and moving away, or that Boo had an accident and I had to deal with real adult stuff or that I haven’t shaved my legs in at least a week (okay FINE, two).
He’s not in my life. He’s moved on. I’ve moved on. I’m dating. I’ve even hooked up with another guy.
But at the end of the day…that love for him? It’s still there. It’s buried under the reality that our timing was off, that our expectations for each other didn’t meet up, that there’s no reason for me to ever talk to him again…but it’s there.
I never understood how love knocked people down. Even when I was going through a divorce I didn’t get it. I get it, how you can love someone and the thought of it not working out literally brings you to your knees. But I get it now.
I get it, and I accept it.
But am I over him? Maybe I’m not crying every day, and maybe I’ll never cry over him again. But saying I’m over him feels like something that might never be true. Maybe over it just means I’ve gotten to the point where I am now. Where I have chosen to move on.
But really it’s just because that’s all I can do.
thecrazyoflove 