At some point the tears are supposed to stop, right? I have a feeling it shouldn’t take this long to adjust to the new normal. Yet, every time I think I’m making progress, here come the tears. From seemingly out of the blue.
At first they were tears for myself. Why did I have to be me, the person who did whatever she did to make him not want to be a part of her life anymore? My tears were my hatred for myself.
Then they were for our past. Why must I miss out on that happiness we once shared? I was devastated not to have that magic bullet that was our friendship; the thing I just knew I would always have that would make the world seem bright again in the darkest of times. My tears were grievance for the loss of that.
But now, I’ve come to terms with the fact that that chapter is closed. I actually like who I am becoming and accept myself. Still, the tears. Only, this time they are all for him. As they fall, I think of his smile, his laugh, his stride, the songs he loved to sing, his hilarious attempts at foreign accents, the way he used to rub his facial hair on my shoulder…
Perhaps this is a good thing. This could be a progression. My negative feelings were at one time focused inward, then involved sadness over a shared internal and external experience, and now my tears are for reasons that have little to do with me. Could it be I cry simply because I still have all of these memories and no more use for them? Definite possibility.
It’s just good to talk it over with myself, you know? My reasoning being that if I follow some trail of logic, I might be able to reason with my emotion. Maybe I can get this all to go away. I’m not naïve. I know how improbable that is.
But I hold out hope.