Laura Nnamdi: How Do We Master the Art of Moving On?
It’s been a while I wrote. Forgive me. I found a man I got to tell every thought that went through my head, including the ones I was too scared to share with myself – you know, those weird conversations we have in our minds. However, it has ended in premium tears, and now, with clear eyes, I find my way back to you, the friend who never left. I’m fine. I like to think I was made for this. With past heartbreaks seared unto my heart, I have learned the art of moving on.
Wait. Let’s try this again.
I’m heartbroken. My eyes are puffy and red from endless crying and I have a nagging headache.
You are never prepared for your next heartbreak. I like to think I am prepared for the worst, but I never am. This lemon got me right in the forehead real good. I have this feeling that my heart has shifted places; I felt it fall into my stomach when I got the text. But can I blame it? Being right in the middle places it at a very vulnerable spot – very easy for love’s arrows to take out a continuous onslaught with no mercy. It’s so delicate; I should have been more protective.
I fell in love and he made me so happy. Why are we never warned that the butterflies we feel now could, in no time, turn into dragons that will drown us with their fire from the inside?
Is there a manual somewhere that tells us how to quickly move on from such hurt? I’ve been through this before, why does it hurt so much? Did I tell you it’s 3 AM right now and PHCN just took the light? My mind’s wandering; I should concentrate. Heck! I should be sleeping, but who breaks off things by 11 pm? O wrong now. That’s an automatic sleepless night for the other person.
I’m ‘the other person’ who wasn’t satisfied with the love he could give. I wanted more. Are my feelings invalid? I want to think that when you fall in love, you do things with the other person in your life, including “bettering yourself so as not to keep causing the other person stress.”
How could I have fallen for, “It’s not you, it’s me”? Damn! I thought I was smarter, ‘cos guy, I be spec. But see me now… In my defense, it was an exquisite “it’s not you, it’s me” episode. Walahi, you wouldn’t have known. I only get to see it for what it is now because I’m overthinking things.
I’m helpless, Remi. I’m without strength. I can’t move on so quickly and fast. I fell in love too quick, too fast, and too hard.
When do we master the art of moving on? When do I?
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