The Day I Forgot

I forgot to miss him today. I only realised at 11 PM, and I panicked.

His name was Caleb. We lasted eighteen months, then lasted another year in my head. I woke up thinking about him. Showered thinking about him. Took the bus thinking about him. Even my dreams had his voice.

I'd tried everything. Therapy. Yoga. A candle called "Moving On." A haircut I regretted instantly. A rebound with a boy named Tom who chewed loudly. My friend Priya said, "You can't force it. One day you'll just wake up and it won't hurt."

I didn't believe her.

Today was normal. I had a deadline. A lecture. A burrito at lunch with a girl from my seminar who made me laugh so hard I snorted. I walked home in the rain, humming, and didn't once check his stories.

I realised it while brushing my teeth.

I looked in the mirror. Toothpaste foam, wet hair, mascara smudged. I'd gone fourteen hours without thinking his name.

And I burst into tears.

Not because I missed him. Because I didn't.

It felt like losing him all over again. Like the last piece of him had slipped out of my hands, quietly, while I wasn't paying attention.

I sat on the bathroom floor for twenty minutes.

Then I got up, washed my face, and went to bed.

Healing doesn't feel like a victory.

It feels like a funeral for someone who's still alive.