I thought I’ve used up all the stock of loneliness I have in this lifetime when I met my friends in college. I remember feeling brave because I find people like me, but infinitely stronger and smarter, getting excited about how I can figure out adulthood with them. I felt safe. I felt like I can be anything I want.
Even on the days when I unknowingly changed the way I see the world because I listen too much to someone with a big mouth and a small heart. Thinking it’s ‘taking an emotional distance’ when in reality I’m killing a part of me that I spend years later trying to resurrect. I thought I’ll never have to face anything alone again. From that moment on I can even sob at the emergency exit for an hour at workday just because I’m afraid my boyfriend will work together with his all-time crush, taking trips to beautiful places and I’m going to be left alone. I can share even the smallest discomfort without hesitation, cry like my whole life depends on it, only to laugh about how stupid the thought was less than 30 minutes later.
The rests are buzzes and phone calls. And in the end, figuring things alone. Watching my world grow, watching the people in it grow. I know that I, too, without really knowing it, has grown.
And how wonderful it was to be the witness of beautiful souls thriving, reaching the level of empathy I could never be. Something that might be time and universe’s conspiracy to collide our storylines for the past few years.
Until I hit pause like it’s a movie that I’m too weak to finish.
It’s the worst heartbreak I managed to stir up for myself so far. With my mastery and craftmanship to portray a perfect scenery of rainy autumn in my head — served on a blue ancient Chinese porcelain with silver cutlery — and my inability to erase it or to keep the picture from vividly flashing before my eyes.
Of how beautiful things can; and will be without me.
