Maybe that is me moving on.
Maybe that is me finally taking off the rose-tinted glasses and seeing our relationship for what it truly was. Attachment. You, loving me only because I used to be in front of you, and me, loving you simply out of fear of not keeping you. You, with one foot out the door, and me, stepping through the frame as if I had no other alternative.
But I see all of it clearly now, how I did have the alternative to allow you to go. I couldn’t bear the concept of being the primary to go away, but I also couldn’t bear the concept of you leaving first, too. So I stayed until life got in the way in which–because it at all times does. I accepted the little love you were willing to offer, not realizing how truly little it was, not realizing how I’m value so way more than that.
Maybe that is me feeling sorry for myself. Maybe that is me trying to grasp why I believed your love was this tender, eternally thing when it was actually reserved, lackluster. Why I never asked for more, why I feared being too needy, an excessive amount of, not enough.
Maybe that is me finally understanding that sometimes love doesn’t occur for 2 people, irrespective of how badly you would like it to. I’m accepting the proven fact that sometimes the love you would like isn’t the love you deserve or the love you wish.
Maybe that is me grieving and finding my very own closure. I’m letting go of each moment I shared with you and tucking it away to develop into a distant memory. Maybe moving on is me attempting to make sense of our togetherness and our parting and the way sad all of it was–till the very end.
