Letting Go

Since a while ago, I have resigned from actively worrying about Josh (the guy who broke my heart by the way). I said his name only because once two years ago, when I was working at Kroger, I saw an alcoholic beverage named after him.

Maybe now is the time to go back there and buy some of those bottles just to break them.

Nah, just kidding. I'm way too damn lazy, and that would be a waste of money. A waste of time.

I have relinquished my general interest in him.

Only worry I have is being sucked back in because I really need a good dicking.

Have I let go?

I don't know. You tell me.

I can genuinely say I'm not worried about his feelings towards me anymore. I still think about it in passing, but it's not consuming me.

I no longer think that I can never find a connection I thought I had with him.

Instead of calling my memoir “The Man I'll Never Forget,” it's called “The Shadow of My Past.” I'm not exalting him above everyone else anymore. I'm seeing everything clearly for what it is.

It's a confusing mess because I'm emotionally unavailable almost as much as he is, and for that, it feels weird to feel entirely mad at the situation. We had our fun together, and it was valuable for what it was at the time.

But that's it. That's all now that I can truly say.

I'm no longer worried about over romanticizing our interactions and making it more than what it was.

Was he in love with me? It might have been possible to an extent. Did he ever want to date me? Maybe.

But in my mind, it no longer matters anymore.

I'm not holding this question over my head like it's some fancy glass that will shatter if I let go.

It was what it was. It was a valuable time, and it meant something irregardless of it not meeting an end goal.

In that place where I met him.

In that little forest of hope.