Why am I still hung up on the past? Most days I force myself into the present, but sometimes, I find myself slipping away, away into the distance, retracing footsteps, looking back at memories of you with a hunger that aches, a longing unfulfilled, a possibility unrealised. The simplest of things are triggers – listening the song I told you was my favourite, drinking the tea you introduced me to, walking in a breeze that carries with it the sound of tired engines and flickering traffic lights just as we had done once. You are just a ghost now, that’s what people tell me, but that’s the problem, don’t you see? You may not be here anymore, but your presence still haunts me, still catches me when I least expect it to. People come and go, but ghosts stay by your side, following you the way unwanted shadows do.
Don’t you get it? Even when you’re gone, you’re not. I want to move on, but I’m only moving forward still clasping onto these memories of you as though they are my last heartbeats. It’s embarrassing to admit all this… I mean, how could so short a time with you leave such a deep impression?
I read a story once. The girl in that story realised that moving on is not forgetting, it’s being able to remember without feeling any pain. The thing is, I don’t feel pain but I feel something. A tight smile, foggy eyes. Something slight, rarely noticed but always felt. Maybe all this is because I’m “sensitive”, maybe my emotions are fragile like wet clay and any kind of weight imprints an everlasting mark upon them. But maybe it’s because you actually meant a lot, and I never had the courage to tell you that. Somehow I let you go without ever letting you go.