After a year and a little more, I am dating again. It feels as though something small and tender has begun to bloom, a bright clover unfurling in the soft morning light, crowned with a single drop of dew. Quietly, patiently, it is ready to grow.
I’m using my this post as an archive for the reflections I wrote in my notes app during the time I found out my partner of three years had cheated on me, and every reflection that led up to that point and the aftermath.
I will be deleting these reflections off my notes app, but I am an archivist, and history has to be archived somewhere.
(Early 2025)
1. (Pre-knowing)
I want to be held. I want physical contact, where I am held and coddled; I wish to be treated like a small creature. I want to be shown with so much kindness and be handled gently as if I were to break with any hard press or any careless action.
I am strong; the fact that I don’t cry shows it. It’s so surprising that I surprised myself. “Who am I to let him treat me this way?” I think with annoyance. But I think about the years I’ve shared with him and began to question my actions. “Was he always this unsure of me? Was he always this tired of me?” I don’t even want to look back; it becomes too painful. Once again, I was the one who gave my heart away. I was the one who leaped, and he is beginning to regret opening his heart to me if he ever did in the first place.
I asked him, “Do you see me in your future?”
He answers, “I’m not sure.”
What a crushing confession. Perhaps in my mind, the solution was so simple that it was easy: we are still together; yes, we are unsure of our future, but we are together. It is interesting how emotions can turn to ice with a straightforward sentence.
“News flash, I don’t know what I’m fucking doing either!” I want to yell, "Why does it only matter if you don’t know what you’re doing? What about me? What about me!”
I’m angry. If he is unsure, why am I still fighting for this? Am I such a coward that I genuinely have no self-respect? Pitiful. I limp like a dog whining for attention; please cherish me like you did before.
I wake up, but I’m surprised; I am not self-loathing. It’s strange. My emotions swing back and forth: anger, sadness, nothingness. Sometimes, I feel nothing, so much that I can’t reflect on the past fondly. I feel nothing as I look at him, “Here is the man that ripped my heart out, who does not want to fight for me; let us present him in all his glory,” but now he is an enigma. Similarly, a scientist donned a white coat and looked at his specimen; it was just an observation.
I want to be held; please, someone, hold me. I want to be coddled; please treat me gently. I want to be important; please fight for me with confidence. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself.
2. (Pre-knowing)
I want to be comforted. My breaking point finally hit. Much later than I was expecting. Am I selfish for wanting attention? Am I selfish for wanting someone to part time for me within their week? Not to see me in a group event but to have a moment between us. So we can breathe in a quiet embrace. I’m exhausted. I am really exhausted.
“Hello, breaking point,” I say to no one.
Only silence provides an answer; it is nothingness.
My tears blurred my vision today, and I drove with trembling hands. The more I blinked to see the road, the more my eyes stung from the salt of the tears. The precious package I drove in my car only sat in silence as my sobs and shaking became more noticeable. A single little meow and my tears fell harder.
I’m exhausted, so pitifully tired. Once again, I am a dog kicked and left in the rain, too tired to fight or stand. I bow my head in repentance. Surely, the heavens will be kinder to me than the soil on the earth. I close my eyes, and only the soft purrs welcome my embrace. I am all my little cat has; I am his entire world. Surely I ask myself, if he was now to converse with me, would he find me a bother too? Would he find me exhausting as well?
Pitiful stupid fucking dog.
Please comfort me, please comfort me. Make time for me and embrace me; I am exhausted.
3. (Pre-knowing)
What am I doing?
My head hurts.
Why am I feeling this way? At this point, it’s not even self-loathing anymore, although I feel it creeping up to me occasionally. Instead, it’s anger. I am so angry. “What about me!” I want to shout, “You can go on, live without a care in the world! While I’m here suffering from your words?” I want to sob in my hands, “I’m here suffering, and it doesn’t even affect you anymore.”
I’m so angry. I haven't felt this type of anger in a while toward someone other than my mother. It’s so surprising, and it’s terrifying. I hate myself when I’m angry. The anger makes me irrational, agitated, and hateful.
“I hate him, I hate him so much.” It’s the voice of my anger that speaks. I catch a glimpse of him, and I feel sick with rage. His touch on my skin feels disgusting.
“But you miss him; you’re lonely without him or his embrace.” The sadness of myself reasons with the anger. But do I truly miss him? Or do I miss my idealized version of him in my head? The version that I thought he was before he uttered those words.
I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,
Ever since he uttered those words, have I been happy? Have I truly been happy? Where has my whimsical feelings gone? I feel the cold embrace of faded feelings. It is surprising how feelings quickly turn to ice after hearing a string of words be thrown carelessly together.
I’m so angry.
4. (The aftermath)
I was so angry when it happened. I was so mad. “How dare he! Who does he think he is, after everything?” My brain shouted, and it yelled, but in the silence of my room, the yelling became quiet. " How could he?” It whispered, “How could he do that?”
Now, I feel so sad when looking back; it is devastating how something could crumble so quickly and how silence could be gone so fast. I’m trying, I am.
Tomorrow will come, and it will be kinder to you than it was today, and that is okay. I believe in you.
5. (The aftermath)
In the solace of night, I tell the world quietly that I miss him. But when the sun wakes me in the morning, I ask myself if I truly miss him. Do I miss the experiences that I had with him? Do I miss the man he once was? I can’t even honestly say if I love him still. I don’t feel “love” when I think of him; only sadness follows my thoughts.
I’m thankful for my anger. It protects and fortifies my heart. I cling to my anger so that I may get through this week.
“Did he even want me still?”
That question lingers in my mind when I replay last week's events. I can’t help but wonder if… I wonder if that statement is true.
6. (The aftermath)
I read the messages on my notes app and the messages I would save from him, which he would send me. I mourn for those messages. Yet, he grew tired of me; those messages began to dwindle in occurrence.
“Where did it all go wrong?” I whisper into the night.
But no one answers, so I am left with the question that I shall never reach a conclusion.
“Will he even miss me?” I ask quietly. Only time will tell. How interesting is the notion that one can reveal oneself to the fullest of ways to another person, then suddenly become strangers once more? I am left wondering if he will ever yearn for me. I wonder if he will miss the touch of my skin or the smell of my perfume. Maybe he will forget it, and there will never be a need to miss it.
Do I miss him? I’m not sure; he hurt me so badly. My heart was ripped apart so forcefully that the whiplash it gave me struck my entire being. I am more shocked that we’ve become like strangers—people who do not recognize each other or know what the other person is thinking or feeling. How strange.
My mother was right. He did change drastically, to the point that I have not recognized him for a long time now. Who was he? Who had he become?
I suppose I’ll never know. And that is what is most frightening. I will never know. He will never tell me. Other people may give their speculation on the subject, but they are not him, and so they will never hold the truth of the matter. How interesting this has become.
7. (The aftermath, 1 month later)
It becomes strange when I realize that I will never wake up to his “good morning” or “good night” texts. I wake up early, surprisingly, with no texts waiting for me from him. Sometimes, when I read my favorite romance novels, flashes of us together rush through my mind. I can’t fully picture his face; it is blurry and unfocused. I can see his eyes and the curl of his hair, but the rest evades me. I wonder if I haunt his dreams.
The other day, during my nap, I had a fleeting dream of him. In my quick dream, his back was facing towards me as he walked away from me. I chased, of course, but I grew tired, as no matter how much effort I gave, I could never reach him.
“When did he grow tired of me?” I wish to ask, but then again, I shall never have the answer to such questions. The world will continue to turn, and I will never have closure. I had previously always wondered why people desperately needed closure; I thought it was stupid, but I understand now. I am not chasing after him, wondering or worrying, but I have these unanswered questions I wish to know the truth about. But, I shall put them in my pocket, next to my wallet, as if they were loose change one were to receive.
I wonder when will be the day I take my wallet out of my pocket and can no longer find the change that hangs loosely around.
8. (The aftermath, 2 months later)
You’re supposed to be here.
It feels strange that you’re not here, experiencing every achievement with me.
It feels as though you have died and that your body nor spirit is here on this earth anymore. As if you have been killed, and only your memory remains.
I’m not sure what to make of this
9. (The aftermath, 2.5 months later)
I have grown lazy and have not written my thoughts here for a while now.
I enjoy my daily walks because it allows me to think about my person and organize the stray ideas that seep generously out of my mind.
I think… that perhaps I will wake up one day, and everything that has happened would have been a simple trick of the mind or a dream that I slipped into.
That is not to say that I miss the relationship or still have feelings that could be considered love for him. I miss the companionship. I don’t love him anymore, which is a strange thought. But I miss the friendship. And a part of me has come to the realization that he doesn’t feel the same way.
I always liked to assume that one’s partner was one’s greatest friend in life because a relationship built on friendship and easy smiles was the purest in my eyes. And so I considered him my greatest friend, but he does not think of me in such a manner.
And in an even worse way, I ask the hanging sun on my walks if he misses me.
I ask the sun this question not because I miss him but because I want to feel wanted. If he misses me, then that would mean that I am wanted, and to be wanted is my greatest desire in life.
My greatest wish is to be wanted, to be someone’s top priority, to be fought for. I understand I’ve mentioned this before, but I want someone who wants me so badly that they can not live the rest of their life without having me in their future.
Perhaps it is because I was always that person with those feelings, ensuring that every step I took for my future would consciously consider including the other party in my plans. I want someone to feel that way about me.
But the fun thing is that I am so young, so new to life. I am continually changing. The concept of life changes daily for me. I do not have a book that specifies what my future will look like or what my plans will be. I take each day in strides and a confident manner.
This is the time to take risks; not to say I will throw myself into harm's way, but I’m allowed to be free and go “beyond,” and that is what has been lifting my head atop the crashing river.
My mommy braided my hair today, her fingers gently petting every strand. My legs no longer touched the floor as I sat, and I wore the girliest shoes, shining softly as they swung in the air.
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