It’s been almost 9 months since I’d left the only world I’d known behind. It happened so abruptly. After 5 long years, it was over. I think it’s safe to say I’m completely over it. I don’t lie in bed at night and cry, I don’t feel sick when I see the “new girlfriend.”

I wrote this in my journal two weeks ago “I’ve seen a million pictures of you since our breakup. And not a single one has made me sick to my stomach, or even remotely sad until today. I was going through my old photos and found one of you at the aquarium. Here lies a photo of a person I used to love very very much. And I thought to myself if only we had stayed the way we were in photos, a still frame in one of our few seconds of happiness. I don’t miss you. I don’t wish we could’ve worked things out. I just know I could’ve known the person in that photo forever, but they’re gone. That you, I won’t ever know again. And that’s what makes me sad.”

I mean sometimes I miss us, and the way we could be in a room with a thousand people and only see each other. But that doesn’t change that it’s over, that I’m happy that it’s over, or the fact that the remaining periods of the time were completely awful.