The first few days are always days of silence – days in limbo. Everything will always be superficial even the hurting.
And then, the rollercoaster ride. Nauseated. Drowning. Floating. Sinking.
The what ifs and the should haves, the regrets and the blaming. The reminiscing, the wanting to move on and the stepping back with false hopes.
Every day is a roller coaster ride. There are days when you’re pretty sure the sun is definitely shining brighter. There are days when you just want to curl-up in your bed convinced that if you breathe quietly and very very slowly the world would hear your heart breaking into a gazillion fragmented pieces. And hopefully, just maybe, the world would take pity and return things to how they used to be – how they should be.
And the ride which we thought would never stop, would slow down. The days of bipolar emotions would lessen. Thing would seem to move at a more predictable and reasonable pace. You’d think, “That wasn’t pretty awful.”
But when the ride stops, that’s when it will hurt the most.
Standing on the ground again means not having any excuses to revisit places where I once watched your lips curl up and your eyes sparkle. It means not seeing you in every guy that wears an over-sized hoodie. It means accepting that my hand will never hold yours again and that I will never be invited by you to another date.
Leaving the roller coaster ride means, a permanent end to everything – including the delusions.
Now safely out of the ride, I know which road to take.