There are times in life when our fondness to someone is too much, to the point where it causes nothing but agony. There are times in life, when we wish we didn’t care that much, that we didn’t love someone that much, that we could take a step back and become strangers again.

But like all things in life, this is not something you can undo. No matter how much you wish for it, you can’t not remember things you did together, and little things you learned about this person.

You would remember that he loved everything about space, that he solved equations and wrote to-do list on the full length mirror in his room, that he swam every morning, and a thousand more little things. You wouldn’t be able to forget the time when he held your hand, and unbeknownst to you, the happiness you radiated, until the guard in the uni pub pointed it out. “You look happy,” he said, and you blushed.

You wouldn’t be able to forget the time you took a walk at the park with him, drinking wine and talking about a bunch of stuff. You would remember vividly the way he held you close, the way he teased you, and the way he said, ‘You could dump me anywhere on earth, and I’d be able to find my way back home,’ given his vast knowledge of the north star and space.

You would miss these little things about him. You would miss him, and you would have to fight yourself not to contact him. You would find yourself restraining whatever your heart wants to do, and in the end you could only mutter, ‘I miss you, goddammit,’ hoping that it could ease the pain of losing someone who once filled your days with so many smiles and laughter.

You would curse yourself for, in the words of Jonathan Safran Foer, your inability to let unimportant things go. You would condemn yourself for your inability to forget all those little things, and for your inability to not give a fuck.

You would hate the damned phrase ‘Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,’  because, of course you cried when it was over, and if you’d known from the very beginning you would’ve chosen everything not to happen so you wouldn’t have loved him, and subsequently, cried when it was over.

You would miss him so much that reading his writing is the only thing that could console you, and yet, it’s also the thing that hurts you, ironically. You would fight every cell of your brain that wants to think about him, but there would be nights when you fail miserably and that would get you restless. It’s knowing that no silver lining could alleviate the pain of trying to unloved the last person on earth you want to forget, because once upon a time he made you so very happy, and you want to cling to that happiness by remembering him.

But in the end, it’s realizing that you can’t cling to the happiness that’s only relevant in the past, and you have to find a whole new, different kind of happiness, and unloving him is the first step of it.

I miss you, goddammit.