A Hard Pill To Swallow

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Disclaimer: Credits to Antoine Dore

2 years have passed.

Today, I saw your name again appear on my facebook page, on my twitter feed, on the contact list of my mobile phone, on our high school yearbook I kept for so long, on a list that first showed up when I was trying to search for someone, on the posts of people I was unfamiliar with, on the mouths of strangers I knew back then; I cringed.

24 months have passed.

I can’t gladly enjoy talking ’bout college without getting a little bit sad. Everything UP-related was even worse to begin with. I was so done with my dreams I wanted to give them up. And I know I was being selfish: to my family, my friends, and most of all to myself. But I came to  a point in my life were my disappointments, mishaps, anxieties and worries killed my self esteem. Or maybe not, because it was you, you killed every confidence I had in me, for making me feel I wasn’t good enough.

96 weeks have passed.

I wasn’t moving forward and people thought I even started. I was trying but maybe I never wanted to heal, I just wanted (no, needed) to survive.

730 days have passed.

Reading books, going places, meeting other people, trying to get myself busy so I won’t remain stagnant even for a second. I got tired and sick of my ways just to forget you, just to stop thinking about you.

17,520 hours have passed.

I thought I was okay. But every night, the memories keep coming back hitting me with no warning. I swear it was hard fighting with ghosts. When in the middle of the night, the guilty feeling would wake you up and getting yourself to sleep would be a real struggle, that all you did at 3 AM in the morning was stare at the ceiling with burning eyes because you can’t even find the motivation to close them.

1,051,200 minutes have passed.

People were now expecting that I had already moved on. I can’t blame them especially when what we had wasn’t even close to a relationship, not even an almost. I guess we’re not even obliged to call ourselves a couple. I hate that it made me realize the problems you’ve caused, the pain and sadness you’ve inflicted in me wasn’t even worth stressing for. But that’s what I am feeling right now and it’s like these people were giving me no right to feel at all.

63,072,000 seconds have passed.

It sucks. It sucks so much that I would want to talk to you right now but I can’t. It sucks that I would want to see you soon but I can’t. It sucks that I would still think we’ll have a chance but I can’t. It sucks that I know this won’t be the last time I will write something about you. As much as I never wanted to be a self-centered person as  I thought of you right now, it’s hard to admit that everything that happened during those two years, from the day you said you’d leave again, has left me wanting for happiness for I never found it again.

I want every year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second back that you took from me.

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