magic on sunday: not as bad as it sounds
this is what happens when you stop seeing someone and realize they were your favorite person.
first, you realize that in fact, you actually loved him. that the convincing you told yourself and others that it was just a silly thing, that it wasn't serious, that you didn't actually really want anything with him, was an intricate plot between your head and your heart to prevent this very heartbreaking situation that you've found yourself in. you soon realize that somewhere, somehow, it did not go as your head and heart had planned.
shit.
of course you've already unfollowed him on instagram, you're still friends with him on facebook, but you've unfollowed him there too. when the urge to peek at these now unfollowed accounts arise, you text your best friends with something along the lines of, "i'm texting you because i want to text him and i really don't have anything to say."
you find yourself extra attentive at particular subway stations, knowing that even in a city of 8 million people, you run into people you know every day, and depending on which way the universe is leaning, this station might be where you meet heartbreak in the flesh. his schedule is casually ingrained in your awareness. what day is it? is he at softball tonight? maybe he's working late, i remember he mentioned that august would be a busy month. either way, you ride the subway with an elevated heart rate.
in your iphone, his number is set on "do not disturb" because while your heart is still bruised, you can't take any chances in believing that maybe he'll call or text. the "ding" of a new message cannot carry any ounce of hope that things have changed.
for about two weeks straight, your eyes are filled with tears. it takes about seven days before you have a full on sob-fest, and when you finally do, you feel like you're finally getting a few steps away from heartache.
when you look at the calendar, you're reminded of how your time used to be occupied by him. the concerts, cooking nights, walks over the bridge. and even if you weren't physically in each other's presence, it's was the 2 hour long text conversations that spanned from bushwick to park slope, that you went to sleep to and woke up to.
your spotify playlist is a graveyard of the songs you shared. even the algorithm of discover weekly is immune to his influence. it's littered with songs from his record collection and songs from decades ago, because of course he doesn't listen to very much modern music. you'll scroll through your phone and discover a screenshot of songs you guys searched one saturday morning in between a homemade breakfast and a late morning snuggle.
almost obsessively, you'll remind yourself over and over why it wasn't meant to be. why, at this particular time, it couldn't work out. there is no hold out for hope, and it's ok (or so you've told yourself).
you'll write this very letter and it will feel equal parts cleansing and confusing, but the words of the people who love you the most will stay prevalent in your consciousness: "he's not your person." you're forced to find the reality in these difficult feelings. to focus on what's ahead without looking back too much.
life was fine before him. it was good, it was great, even.
you keep your head up - now's the time to find that life again.
magic on sunday: 08.13.17
taking over - joe goddard
motion sickness - phoebe bridges
angle cum clean - elvis depressdely
i don't think so - ben phipps
harness your hopes - pavement
ondulation - burning peacocks
shake - yeek
until sunday,
meghan