I pulled out my phone, opened up our text thread, tapped till I got all the way to the top, and once again read it through. This time, not to understand how we communicated, what I said to him, when and how things took a wrong turn…but really to feel closer to him. I placed my phone open, on his last text, on my chest.
I knew I couldn’t message him to tell him I missed him, to remind him to care for me, to remind him to remember me, but I needed to feel his words close to me, to feel him close to me, even if it was through a phone screen.
I was bawling all night. Embarrassed, alone, holding it in. I willed myself to stop, to stop wanting to be with you. I begged myself to delete our conversations once and for all. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the strength. And I wasn’t ready, I’m not ready to give you away, forever, yet, still.
— Edit: 12 months after this day, I did it. I deleted our conversations. Every single word, back and forth for three years. I think I’m ready.
Now your turn, go on, are you ready to move on?