When it happened, I cried a lot.
The next morning, I didn’t get out of bed.
Neither did I do so in the afternoon.
Two days later, my bestfriend came to visit with a carton of vanilla ice cream in her hands.
I didn’t eat much of it, because my new favorite flavor was pistachio because you had gotten me hooked on it.
We stayed up late watching my favorite movies and she spent the night on your side of the bed.
I spent hours looking over them.
I wanted to rip them apart, but I couldn’t.
I stored them in a drawer I rarely opened, instead.
Two weeks later, I finally left the house to go for a walk.
I passed by the coffee shop that we had our first date in.
I paused, debated it.
Then, I stepped inside and ordered myself a caramel macchiato instead of an espresso. The first drink I had shared with you.
I always hated the bitter taste, but I drank it anyways because you had already ordered and I was too shy to change it.
A month later, I got myself a haircut.
You liked my hair long, but I always wanted to have it short.
I always struggled with managing it.
When the stylist was done, he smiled at me and said,
“It looks lovely. You look amazing.”
I didn’t go home and cry myself to sleep that night.
Six months later, I went to the beach one early morning to watch the sunrise.
I remembered resting my head against your shoulder as we waited for the sky to burst into different colors.
You always yawned numerous times, because you hated waking up early, but you did it for me anyways. I remembered teasing you about it.
A year later, I met someone new.
I don’t regret what happened.
There is no point in doing so.
I am happy now,
and I hope you are too.
— Moving on