Closure (n): putting an end to things well.
I used to think that I could get over you but eight, nine, ten – eleven months have already passed and I’m still here, thinking about all those Friday nights and Saturday mornings we both shared. Getting used to the thought of not having you next to me on train rides, not hearing you sing How Deep Is Your Love when you know I’m mad and not having that one person who understands my every flaw, tolerates and tries to straighten out my every mistake, accepts me for who I am even if I’m a bitch, was even harder.
You’re like Summer Finn and I feel like Tom Hansen. As cliché as this will sound but it was you who woke up and realized what you weren’t sure of with me. You took off without saying goodbye but you left your favorite scarf with me. Yes, the one you used during our first Christmas together. If I remember well, it was a Sunday morning when you took off, you packed all your bags and you took your chances while I was still sleeping. No wonder you made me drink a lot of alcohol that night, you had everything planned. I thought you’d come back but two, three, four – five days have gone and not even a text, an email or even a note was left for me to read.
Closure, yes, closure. That’s what we never had.
But I’m not mad – not even holding grudges. I still don’t understand why you left me hanging. Do you know how hard it is to stay up late, thinking back and figuring out why you left and took off? For months, I kept on telling myself to hang on and believe that somehow, the universe will conspire with us and make our ends meet again but I’m tired. You’re the one who left. And with leaving comes detachment, with detachment comes independence. I can and I will pull myself back together. With or without you, I’ll make it.
This is where I stop, this is where I let go.