In Memory of You

The Art of Moving on

Moving on. What are you moving on from anyway? What are you trying to escape? What is hurting you? Pain. The pain of loving you. The pain that you caused me, the pain i caused myself. The clearest indication of love. Of the loved. That's how you know you loved someone, you hurt after they're gone. You hurt so badly that you can't function for a long time, an infinite one. One that no one knows the duration of. We're clueless of it. Until we experience it. Until our time comes to be wounded by them. Because we're all soldiers in a battlefield. Soldiers who would risk anything in the name of love, because we desire victory, because you are the prize. Because love is the ultimate prize. And the price? The price of risking this? Everything. You lose yourself in the pain. You are agonised by it. You become helpless. You attempt your best to not think of him. But you can't. You lose anyway. So you go off to bed, knowing it would be of no difference, since you'd dream of him anyway. So what's the point?

You find yourself. You heal yourself in the process, single-handedly, because in reality, no one will be there to help you. The one who said he'll be there for you? He won't be. Ever.

Anger is the defence of the hurt, they say. It may be indeed. But during my healing process, i've learnt that coldness is. Toughness. Numbness. If moving on means you have to stop feeling, then so let it be. It worked for me. I have come to the point where i no longer feel anything when i'd see those 3 letters that make up your name on my feed. Or the other 5. My heart used to jump off at the sight of it anywhere, i'd let out what i'd feel. A gasp it may be, or more so of tears. Because the tears are my helplessness. But that's no longer the case. My face would be blank. A void-less abyss. Something that once was filled with everything would turn into emptiness. It may seem like the most sensationalised process, but it worked. And i slowly moved on.

I started to forget how your voice sounded like, even though it used to be the lullaby that i'd look for before midnight lurked in. Even though it used to be the voice that made my name sound like music on someone else's lips. Because that's the voice that released those dagger-words. The words that pierced through my chest which turned into 2 am sobs. Sobs which caused self-loathing. I started to forget how your lips felt like against mine. Even though it was the only thing i used to crave for. I started to forget how your touch felt like. How your arms felt around my waist, how your fingers felt intertwined with mine. Even though that's the only feeling that gave me assurance of love, of protection, of possesion. I started forgetting you as a whole...

Instead you became my past. Something that i know will be treasured as the sake of my first love. But that's it. That's how far it will go. Times up...