I won’t send the cliché “I miss you” text. Seriously, I won’t. I promise. Hold me to that. You have my permission to throw my phone out the nearest window if- actually, let’s raise the stakes. If I go back on this vow, you may go so far as to cut off my fingers. No fingers=no texting ever again. I grant you this right.
Not that I haven’t thought about texting him. Especially when over the weekend there was a party in my apartment and tequila shots were in my belly: perfect conditions for bad decisions. This was the one time I got dangerously close to sending such a disaster. But I refrained, kept my feelings to myself.
Not that I don’t miss him. I do.
- I miss him when ever I take the 4 train. Now I associate it with him rather than my first year of commuting hell. I don’t take it often, but when I do, I find myself wondering if he’s on the train.
- I miss him when anything in my apartment breaks. He was a man who knew how to fix things, knew how to build things. I miss him when my shelves are unleveled and a cabinet has come off its hinge.
- I miss him when anyone says “mozzarella”. He couldn’t help but say it with an Italian accent that I thought was adorable.
- I miss him when I lie awake in bed, the morning sun streaming through the curtains. My cat is meowing at the door. I miss letting the cat in and the 3 of us cuddling in bed, talking long after we should have gotten up. He loved my cat and didn’t mind the layer of cat hair that consistently covers my apartment.
- I miss him when I see a stranger wearing a t-shirt with his favorite wrestler on it. If it weren’t for him, I’d have absolutely know idea what “CMPunk” even meant, but now I’ll always remember.
- I miss him when every other man in my life is talking about football, fantasy teams, and how they can’t hang out because they have to watch the game. He had no interest in football. The other day I found myself wondering, Is constantly smoking pot a less attractive hobby than constantly watching football? Yes, yes it is. Still, the question did cross my mind.
- I miss him when I see a man with a long ponytail. I can’t help but wonder what his hair looks like now: if he got a proper hair cut, or just left it a cropped mess. I have no idea. (No, there aren’t any pictures on Facebook. Yes, I’ve looked.)
- I miss him when I wear the skirt I wore on our first is-this-even-a-date? I remember exactly what I wore, and though I would have denied it at the time, that obviously meant something.
It could be worse. At least I don’t miss the sound of his voice. Or the touch of his hand. I certainly don’t miss his smell.
But it’s been over six weeks now, I know I’m passing the point where it’s socially acceptable to still have feelings for my ex. I’m not savoring these feelings. I’m not clinging on to them in some vain hope we get back together. That’s not happening. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is not the guy for me.
There, I even wrote it down for all the internet to see. His negative qualities and the reasons we don’t belong together are much more prominent in my mind than any positives. Still, he was a huge part of my life for a significant amount of time. Oh yeah, and I loved him.
I don’t let people in easily. I don’t trust people easily. It’s very New York of me. Hell, it took me four months to call the guy my boyfriend! Now, if it takes me four months to stop thinking about him….ugh that will be exhausting. But if I need that much time, okay. I’m granting myself clemency. “Time heals all wounds.” Is there a more truthful cliché?
In the past, it always took me a long time to get over people. I always felt ashamed of this and pretended to have moved on long before I actually had. Of course, this just made everything worse, the process more painful and drawn out. I would think to myself, “He’s over me, so I have to be over him!” I wish it worked that way, wish I could force my feelings. But I’m wise enough now to know I can’t. This time around, I won’t judge myself. I’m not over my ex. Yet. And I don’t care who knows it. This is my process, on my clock.
The best part of this whole thing, something I can say with pride? I can miss him and not care if he misses me. I honestly don’t need that ego boost.