Now that I’ve unpacked my bag, this change feels permanent. The pain has come and gone in waves throughout the entire duration of this process. It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut when I look at something that reminds me of him for too long: the lilac t-shirt he gave me cuz it didn’t fit him anymore, the pair of denim shorts that I bought with him, the goofy socks he gifted me cuz he knows how much I love them, his black M&S bag he gave me cuz I wouldn’t change my old battered one. I thought reorganising my wardrobe would at least be relaxing if not cathartic. But I’m more on edge now.

This feels final. Definite. Rigid.
And I hate this feeling.
I hate not knowing when I’m gonna be able to meet him. I hate not being next to him. I hate that he has imprinted on my cells from being with me for so long, that now I don’t know, I don’t remember, how I was before we were together.

I feel like I’m being choked by a barbed wire. The wire taut against my neck, bound so many times that it also covers my mouth.
I feel powerless and lost, not being able to do anything about anything.

I feel the distance between us now. It’s wider, more than ever. And I think it’s because this time is different than the previous ones. Because this time we don’t have the academic planner to tell us the date of our next meeting. I don’t know when exactly, I’m gonna see him next. I still remember how we would bunk classes (on my persistent pleading) and go watch movies in a mall that was way too far, on a bike that was way too uncomfortable for making those long trips. I remember how we would not eat anything the entire day, then book an impromptu table at Barbeque Nation and stuff our faces with food till we couldn’t possibly eat more.

I reminisce about those days like it was just yesterday. But that part of our lives is over. Now the real part awaits. And I’m not gonna lie, I’m shit scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen. And the moment I sit idle, my anxious thoughts gnaw at any and all positive assurances that he has given me.

They say that time is the best healer. Well guess what, they’re right. Because I feel better, maybe time did actually heal me. But then that’s the beauty isn’t it. No single moment is supposed to last forever. No feeling lasts forever. And knowing that brings me peace. In the hope that this too shall pass.

The barbed wire is significantly loose around my neck now, and I can finally breathe again.

Why Am I Sharing This?

I had a lot of doubts about posting this piece. I thought what if maybe it’s too vulnerable or emotional. Maybe they won’t like it so I should change it; make it less intense. But then I remembered that, it’s not for you.
It’s for me.
I’m doing it so that I don’t forget my voice. And this was my voice when I initially wrote it on 26th May. I was heartbroken and frustrated. This was the story, whether anyone likes it or not.