think of the heartbreak. when in the midst of it it can feel like the only thing that matters.
then gradually their birthday passes and your mom stops asking about them, their pictures (the ones you couldn’t bring yourself to delete) get pushed farther back into the camera roll.
then that yellow shirt they got you only brings a flicker of the memory of their face. their name a sad smile.
remembering the time they spilt purple paint on your bed or when they hid in a tree during a game of hide and seek— remembering how it felt when a week of silence turned into that final text, the one that renewed the flickering hope, that you could fix the mess…
remembering the last words they said.

your heart beats normally now. you no longer text a blocked number, no longer reread long paragraphs of text or muse over the lack of responses.
now it’s a bittersweet experience remembering.
knowing what hurt was. knowing what hurt more was how lonely it was and how much it sucked to realize you needed this to learn to be alone.
you’ve yet to recover. you’ve loved again, sure, but the part of you that was so eager to share and to take and to trust was chipped a little when they told your mutual friend they were glad to get rid of you.

think of the heartbreak. when in the midst of it it can feel like the only thing that matters.
then gradually their birthday passes and your mom stops asking about them, and you wonder if you ever had a choice in who to love.
if, once the week turned into a year and then years, and the hurt turned into acceptance, you ever stopped loving them.

it feels like the choice is never really yours.