the intimacy of never speaking again.

i got dumped about a month ago. it was less of a dumping since we were never really together, but it hurt just the same. 

in my typical dramatic fashion, one can only assume how dealing with this loss of love was for me. (spoiler alert: i borderline drove paige and mike to insanity with my incessant text messages about how my heart had felt like it was ripped out of my chest one day and the next i felt like i was completely fine) 

but i’ve found a lot of comfort recently in just letting go. not necessarily forgiving, but just accepting. reminding myself not just “if he wanted to he would” but just that he can’t. i can wish that he was a better man all i want but that won’t change that he isn’t; or that he couldn’t be a better man for me. 

i feel like people often forget that intimacy doesn’t just correlate to sexual moments. some of the most intimate moments i shared with this man i had fully clothed. whether it was in a mcdonald’s parking lot talking about our parents and how they shaped us into who we are, or when he held a youtube video of a fireplace by my feet because i said they were cold. the giggles we shared about our friends and moments of the night we found particularly funny. how he held me while i opened up about myself, the look on his face when he wiped my tears. how i traced the lines on the skin of his arm when he did the same. the breathes we took, eyes locked, slight giggle happening mid kiss because we were so enthralled with each other that words simply weren’t enough, and the look in our eyes said all we needed it to. 

similarly, ive grown a comfort in the intimacy that we’ll never speak again. i can have a wonderful day, and he’ll never know. and somehow, weirdly enough it makes me slightly smile. the intimacy is weird, like a longing but not a yearn. 

it reminds me of the fondness in which one feels when a song they previously loved randomly comes on. you don’t necessarily need to call the friend from middle school who was with you when you both discovered it, but you pause momentarily and smile because of how beautiful the moment in itself was. 

it’s like a time capsule, but tender and sweet. 

there’s something beautiful in the fact that the intimacy is now in the secrets we both share. though they’re untouched now, we carry them with us. and there’s something sweet about that. 

it’s an agreement that maybe the future just isn’t for us. 

and there’s something passionate, and yet gentle about that resolution. 

xo,

belle.