The Lovelorn Lover

I think I play the role of the lovelorn lover a little too well; sitting in the hurt, wallowing in it. As others go to bed, I stay awake, devotedly yearning.

And I know you’re probably sick of me getting typecast because I am too. But because I do it so often, it’s now second nature to me.

One, create a playlist or two with songs that remind me of you. Two, binge some movies with characters that remind me of us two. Three, read some books with plots that remind me of our love story. Four, reminisce some more.

Hold on to the pain because it’s the only feeling where the intensity comes close to that of the adoration (or was it obsession?) you felt at the start.

Then write and cry about it. And repeat. Do it until there are no tears left to cry and nothing left to write about.

Do it until you’ve exploited yourself of all the pain for art, and you’ve emptied yourself till you’re numb.

Now, I would usually lose myself in someone else just to get over an ex-lover, going on dates after dates after dates. But you’re special. So try as they might, I’m never out with another, and I’d much rather they not bother.

I would tell everyone that I’m dedicated to the healing process, though there’s a tiny fragment of us that I still refuse to discard, one that I keep close to my heart.

I’ll admit, maybe I find myself holding on to things that have long ended because I am not ready to truly be alone with myself. Because the thing about suffering is that you can get so used to it that it starts to feel familiar, and familiarity brings about comfort.

And it’s much easier to hide and tend to familiar wounds than to take off the bandage and open yourself up, once again making yourself vulnerable and susceptible to new hurt.

Plus, the pain is the only thing I have left that ties me to you. So that makes it sacred, doesn’t it?

I know someday I will forget about you the way I forget about every other person before you, the way us humans naturally do – our memories marred by time and our feelings quelled (though I’m still trying to convince myself of it).

In fact, the memories are already slipping away from my fingertips, and as more time passes, the more the memories warp into something incoherent.

It’s kind of like waking up from a dream and feeling like you need to capture that dream before you lose it, but always being too late and never being able to get the details right or even relive it. And at the end of it, you’re just left with a bunch of maybes that do nothing except convince you of all the could have beens.

And so you start to feel wistful again, sitting in the hurt and wallowing, once more playing the role of the devoted lovelorn lover.