A day in the life of the broken-hearted (on...well, heartbreak)

You've just come back from a run. You're always in a great mood after a run. Most times after you run, you spend an equal amount of time dancing in the mirror and admiring your body. You've lost some weight, but it pleases you. You like how you look as your body moves in the mirror.

Another song starts playing and you sense from the lyrics that it's about someone who had just left a relationship. But it's a happy song. A song about accepting that it's life, and moving on. You find it relatable at first, and then you get this weird pang in your chest.

You had spent the earlier part of the morning  thinking about your recent encounter with the guy you've been spending a lot of time with.

You find him very attractive, and extremely funny (and this is saying something considering you only communicate in French and you are still getting a hang of the language).

The one you had tried to have sex with and found out rather disappointedly that you weren't one of those who could get over someone by getting under another. The one you told that you couldn't do it because you are still very much in love with your ex.

During your last encounter, He who had seemed so eager to have sex with you had spent most of the night in a battle with himself. He had decided he likes you and he was anxious about what sex would entail now that he sort of cares. It appeared he only knew how to have sex when he disassociated the activity from the woman in question, you know, good old objectification. He insisted he thinks it's love, but you reassured him it wasn't. Neither of you wants that sh*t anyways. You say the word "lust" in English, because you do not know it in French.

You found this whole experience kind of silly, but your incredulity was replaced with confusion when after 4hrs together, he could not bring himself to do more than hold you, stare at you and dialogue with you and himself in a state of panic at the situation, while you watched in slight amusement.

He seems fairly honest and you certainly enjoy the theatrics, but somehow you can't decide if to believe any word that comes out of his mouth. You do not care to decide.

Doesn't matter if you do anyways, this sh*t always ends. This phase of excitement, of unbridled attraction, it passes, goes stale. You feel like it only counts while it is happening. Otherwise, it means nothing. Maybe this entire thing is more fun if you only live in the moment. If you don't dare imagine anything past the exact time you are in. Because none of that matters in the end.

*             *             *            * 

After you finish 2 chapters of the book you're reading, the song starts playing in your head again. You remember the part of the lyrics that says "could never imagine having doubts, but not everything works out", and you break down in tears. You cry, you heave, and you weep. You look at your calendar and realize it has been exactly 2 months since you officially broke up.

You think about how it has been like this since you decided it was better to end it. You think about the high you felt and the empowerment that came from making what was a devastating but necessary decision. You think about how good you felt and how sure you were about the decision, until you saw him in Paris last month. It wasn't because Paris was a romantic city. It was because you had spent time with the version of the man you fell in love with, and the version you had spent an uncountable amount of time chasing. You returned to the city you live in, absolutely wrecked, asking yourself if he couldn't see how good you were together, and if so, why it never seemed as though he thought it was worth everything.

You think about conversations you had earlier, in February, when you mapped out a beautiful life for you two. You think about August the year before, when you thought to yourself how you never want there to be a time where you don't feel in love with him. You even remember where you were when you had that exact thought. You think how now you want that thought to be both true and untrue.

You think about how each time you lay on the new guy's chest, it makes you wonder how many more chests you might have to lay on before it feels like home again. You think how pathetic you are because your ex probably doesn't think of you when he gets with other people. Then you get frustrated because you don't want to think of him with other people. You don't want to care about him enough to want to know what he is doing with other people.

As you wipe your tears, the chorus of the song talks about love knocking you down but how you are now back on your feet, dancing. But you don't think it's quite as easy. At this point, you know, that getting back on your feet doesn't mean your feet won't hurt and your legs won't wobble. it doesn't mean your knees won't buckle under the pressure of heartbreak. Getting back on your feet means learning to walk with a new pair of legs, and accepting that you might never walk exactly like you used to before.