Do you ever really forget a past love?

Or do they pop into your mind from time to time? Do things still remind you of them? Do you allow those memories to grow into a colourful visual in your head, or do you push them down almost too harshly? Too quickly? Do you give yourself permission to feel, or is there nothing left to be felt?

In the quiet, I think of you.

Not in a longing way, although I used to. Not in a way that says “I miss you,” although those words used to hang sadly and heavily in the air. Not in a way that hits me in the heart, because my heart feels full and healed. Not in a way that I hold, because I let go, long ago. Not in a way that affects me anymore. Not in a way that matters.

But the truth is, in those moments I think of you.

I think about what you taught me about love. I think about what you taught me about pain. What you taught me about desire and beauty. But also about ugly and messy. About how you made me feel. The good and the bad. What my skin felt like when your body touched mine. And what my heart felt when your words would cut through it like sharp shards of glass. I think about the level of patience I learnt. And what you taught me about the art of projection, which you did more and more as the relationship progressed. I think about the ambiguous loss I struggled with when it finally ended. I think about these things because they are an important part of the process. The forgiveness. The gratitude. The lessons. The past. The me I am today.

Yes, in the quiet, I think of you. Without attachment. Without need. Without regret. And I reflect upon how far I have grown from that woman I was.

And I allow the thoughts. In the quiet, I allow them to move through me. A gentle kaleidoscope of visions. Soft and calm. Emotion no longer attached. Reflection of who I once was and who I am now. The key, I’ve learnt, is not forgetting because that formed part of who I am. The memories form part of the reflection. A reminder of the healing. A reminder of the growth. A reminder of the cracks I so clearly had back then that have now healed into soft scars. Barely visible, but I know they are there. Like witnessing a timeline of where it started, to where it finished. Why I allowed what I did. I don’t forget because it’s important to remember. It’s important to recognise the moment I forgave you. And the moment I forgave myself.

In the quiet, I think of you, as I’ll always carry a small piece of you. It’s the way it is. The truth of the matter. You can’t love someone at some point and simply pretend they never existed. That’s not healthy. It’s not realistic. It’s not honest.

You weren’t who I thought you were, and that’s okay. Maybe I wasn’t who you wanted me to be. Maybe I was and that scared you. Doesn’t matter anymore. That chapter is closed. I was in my truth, and I stand proud of that. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said. I wore my heart on my sleeve. And I put you on a pedestal. Funny thing about pedestals; it’s a swift fall when the blinkers come off. And you were exposed for who you are, a man with faults. A man with wounds. A man who buried his truth and instead chose to live a lie. That’s not bad. Nor are you bad. You were just fallible, and I couldn’t see that.

In the quiet, I think about that. The imperfections of you. Of me. Because that’s growth. That’s how you break cycles and patterns.

I rediscovered who I was in the depths of our ending. There’s such beauty in that. I can feel gratitude for the pain you inflicted, the pain we both felt because it gave me a choice. I could either give up. Bound into another unhealthy dynamic, and I say unhealthy because we both know it’s true. Sometimes those intense connections that feel all encompassing and addictive are just not healthy. It’s one of those life experiences. Something you hopefully learn from. I chose to look inward to reconnect with me. I think about that choice a lot. Because it was the catalyst for change. I got to walk my path alone. Not in a lonely way but a way that taught me to fulfil myself. A way that showed my resilience. A way that highlighted my strength and courage. A way that helped me process my grief. A way I got to unlearn those parts of myself that didn’t serve me anymore. A way I reconnected to my essence.

And in the quiet, I think about that journey.

It makes me smile that I landed in a place where I can think about that without sadness. Without attaching emotions and feelings to you. Everything used to be so raw. But it’s not raw anymore. It’s not numb either. It just is. Sitting there in silence. Time has passed, and I am here and you are there. I am me and you are you. But the me I am is different to the me you knew. She has a depth to her that only comes with the experience of profound loss. And in that depth, there’s self-love. Belief. Happiness. Strength and resilience There’s no fault in that. There’s no blame. No yearning. No desire for what was. There’s just the simplicity and gentleness of grace.

Yes, in the quiet, I remember that. I remember the you I put on a pedestal. The you when that pedestal crumbled. I remember the me that thought you belonged there. And the me that realised the facade once you began to wobble.

It’s like seeing you in the distance. You’re not clear and there are shadows. You’re almost unrecognisable. I can’t read you. But I can still feel your energy. I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me. Two people who shared intimacy on so many levels, now strangers. Two bodies that once fit together so easily, no longer familiar with each other. Two lives that were so intricately intwined, now so separate, like they never shared a bed, their bodies, their minds, deep conversations, and their emotions. I can watch you for a moment and then turn away. There’s no need, no want to come toward you. The distance is too far. From who we were, to who we are. It was just a moment in time. With some beauty and some ugly. With some voids that needed filling.

And in the quiet, I recall that chapter. Not because I yearn that time but because every chapter is crucial in creating the book. No more or less important. Just part of the story. Part of the plot. A shaping of the characters. An intriguing weaving of events. Highs and lows. A revealing. Openings and closings. Beginnings and endings. Colourful words to describe the colourful story. It’s a small chapter in the scheme of things but important nonetheless. I am not me without it.

And in the quiet, I’m reminded how far I’ve come. And I’m proud of that.

You were meant to come in. To create that chapter. Not to stay. It was meant to be fleeting. You were meant to be fleeting. A transient connection, no matter the depth. It was meant to strip me back to my core so that I could rebuild. Rediscover. Reconnect. It was meant to undress my soul. To momentarily intwine it with yours. But just for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t meant to define me. It was meant to teach me. To break me. So I could find my voice. Find the parts of myself that lay hiding. Meet my inner child and my shadows. It was meant to be the way it was. No more, no less. It was my lesson.

And in the quiet, I’m reminded of that lesson. Gently. Compassionately. Because it was my fork in the road. And I chose the road less travelled. And that was my blessing.

Time passes by. We get older. Wiser. We get the opportunity to challenge ourselves. To change beliefs. To change the trajectory of our life. To tackle our fears. To look hard at our ego. We get to learn the veracity of who we are. We find our space. Our people. To grow into the person we were meant to become.

In the quiet, I think of you because your exit, our ending, led me to my wholeness.

And that will always be a gift.

~

You might like this one too: