I Know It’s Time To Let You Go

It’s a sunny day. But where we are, it’s still cold. I was never convinced it actually got warm. Just sunny.

There’s music playing. I always have to have music playing—you know that. It’s probably some indie band that might seem basic, but I like them. It’s the afternoon. 

I’m on one end of the kitchen and you’re on the other. We make idle chit chat for the first little bit, but things progress. It seems natural, as if we’ve known each other for years. This connection continues for a few days. It grows. It gets brighter. 

The final day we’re there, you get a call. You look at me before you answer, your eye contact just long enough to give me the hint. There’s a woman on the other end of the line. You take the call outside. 

I ask if that was your girlfriend on the other end of the phone when you return. You say yes. 

A cycle of similar happenings continues between us for the next seven years. 

At one point, it seems that we might make it out of this. That the continual back and forth of ‘I can’t have you yet’ will end. We almost made it. 

Almost. 

You tell me there’s someone new. Someone you’ve never felt this way about before. I’m instantly back in that kitchen from seven years ago, watching the possibility of us being ripped away right in front of my eyes. 

I tell you I’m happy for you, and truly I am. But, for the first time, I tell you how much that happiness will cost me. How sad I’ll be. How sad I am. 

I tell you I need space. I realize exactly what I mean as the words come out of my mouth. 

I realize you can’t be in my life anymore. 

I feel my chest tighten. I feel my gut begin to turn. I remember this feeling. 

I have to leave. And so I do. I leave the conversation before it turns south. I leave the memory of you as just that- a memory. I leave my hope for something more behind. 

I have to believe the distance will be what serves me best. I need to move on. I need to let you go, and if you’re even remotely a part of my life I can’t do that. I know myself too well to believe anything different. 

The silence will ache for a while. But as time continues on, I know the ache will dull. I know the wound will heal. I know I won’t feel the way I feel right now forever. 

I said I was happy for you, and I am. I’m happy for me, too. As difficult as this decision is, I also know it is the best. I’m happy I made the right choice. I’m happy I’m deciding to give myself the space to grieve something I thought might happen to make room for things that actually will. 

I will wish this didn’t turn out this way. But I won’t waste any more time on it, either. I’ll move on from it and so will you. 

We’ll both be fine. And I think, right now, that’s the most we can hope for.