Stuck

I don't know anymore.

I miss him. As much as I know it was for the best and for both our sakes, I can't act like everything's fine. I didn't have much time to think about it in the last month of school because I was so busy, but now that I do have the time, everything is bombarding me at once.

You don't just erase someone who was a part of your life for five years. More than five years if you consider how long we've been friends. The fact that he's avoiding me is killing me. I know it's my fault. I know I should have called. I should have tried harder. I should have done a lot of things. And I know the fact that I'm trying now isn't necessarily admirable, but the fact is, I'm trying. All I want is an hour, some closure, some indication that I haven't provoked irreconcilable resentment, some sign that the last five years meant something. Anything at all.

All I can think about now are the good things I gave up. We always had our problems, but so does everyone. We loved each other. We really did. His ever-changing obsessions, his critical eye, the way he made me laugh, the way it felt when he held me, the way we looked at each other. How he was shorter than me but didn't care, how he bought me 20 carnations on Valentine's day, and how he paid for my lunch for a month when we first started dating and wouldn't let anyone else sit by me. How he put up with my emotional outbursts and supported me when I needed it.

All I want now is to know that he's happy. That I haven't ruined it for him. That this is at least something we can look back on fondly as we continue as friends in the future. I can't keep clinging to something that isn't there, I know that. But I need him to help me move on.

I'm not good at being alone. I never have been. I've never been good at coping with change, either. Somehow I need to convince myself that I don't need anyone else to be happy. I never thought I'd become one of those girls, but I think I have. I don't know how to be single. And I guess that isn't something someone else can teach you. I should consider myself lucky to have had what I did.

But it's harder than it looks.