What in the Inception?

I don’t know how to live with a broken heart.

Does anyone know?
And can you teach me?

I’ve had my heart broken before… this isn’t my first rodeo.

But this recent one is a new one. One that I’ve never really experienced something like before. And I’m not talking about the hurt, or the pain and “suffering” of a heartbreak. I’m familiar with those. No, I’m talking about the practicality of living a life after.

The logistics of continuing to exist without someone who consumed your days for three years.

Because this time I made a very “interesting” decision. I chose to have my heart broken by someone in my everyday vicinity.

Someone who exists. Truly exists.

Yes, I’ve had my heart broken before. But those were people who, if you cut ties with, they’re out. Gone. Maybe their name pops up once every few years in conversation. Maybe someone who knows someone who knows them mentions them in passing.

*And if you read my last post, you know that sometimes even those ghosts like to make surprise appearances.

But still, distance exists.

This one doesn’t have distance.

For the past twenty-one days, I have heard his voice from the other room every single day. Even when I put effort into leaving the room so I wouldn’t be flashed by his face. I still catch his laughter behind the walls.

Twenty-one days of accidentally remembering someone you’re technically supposed to be forgetting. And yet the world expects you to behave normally through it. To move forward. To sit in conversations where someone casually compliments his performance and you’re supposed to go, “Oh… him? Yeah. He’s good.”

Like you’re discussing the weather.

Like your chest didn’t just do that weird tightening thing hearts do when they recognize something they’re trying not to recognize anymore.

It’s funny. I hate it. I really do. And if you’re reading this, which you really shouldn’t be, relax. This isn’t for you. This is for me.

Not to forget you, because that doesn’t really seem like an option. Just to hate on you a little. Not you as a person. You know how much I love you. But you as a “star”? Unbearable. Absolutely unbearable.

Actually this whole entry is funny if you think about it. I hate that people in my life know about this blog. I hate that sometimes when I write, a small voice in the back of my head whispers, careful. They might read this. Careful. Don’t feed their egos. Careful. Don’t let them know you care.

But honestly… I think I’ve reached the “fuck it” stage. They know me. They knew me. And even if I didn’t write about them, they know I’m thinking of them. You know.

So what exactly am I protecting at this point? What am I doing right now anyway? Does this count as breaking “no contact”? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m writing. It’s what I do.

Technically I’m not speaking to anyone. This is my room. I’m just chilling in it. If someone decides to sneak up to the window and look inside, that’s really not my responsibility.

Bruh.

The truth is I don’t even know what the right emotion here is supposed to be. Sadness feels too simple. Anger feels dishonest. Indifference would be the most convenient but unfortunately I haven’t unlocked that level of emotional maturity yet.

What I feel most days is something closer to confusion. Because heartbreak is supposed to come with disappearance.

That’s the rule, right?

Someone leaves. Or you leave. You block them. Or they block you. Or in this case we MUTE each other. Bruh. Then time and silence slowly erase the shape of them from your daily life. Right?

But no one really prepares you for heartbreak where the person doesn’t disappear. It’s such a strange experience to miss someone who technically hasn’t gone anywhere. To love someone the world also has access to. Like your private heartbreak has a public broadcast schedule. To know exactly where they are. Or where they will be. Or where you will run into them again, and when, and how. And still feel like they’re completely gone.

The thing is, I love me a good heartbreak.

I secretly enjoy them.

I like having someone live quietly in the back of my mind, somewhere deep in my chest. I like carrying them around with me like a small object in my (pocket.)

But what I don’t like is when the object starts moving on its own.

When your face appears somewhere I didn’t invite it.

So quit, just quit, will you?

Thank you and goodbye,

Xoxo

Stoopid ffb

LOL