There was this woman on the train that looked exactly like you.  

As a matter of fact, she looked nothing like you. But my mind felt the need to recreate you, as I have been starving it from things that keep you alive. I deleted the pictures and threw away the presents. I stopped bringing you up amongst friends.  

But moving on is a process, not a switch.  

I wish I was angry or resentful or some sort of other galvanizing feeling. It would have given me the license and the grounds to build a stronger case for moving on faster. But I’m none of the above. I’m just bitter, disappointed – lukewarm feelings steeped in doubt, could haves, should haves and what ifs. And those are cunning feelings to command your consciousness, feelings that hang around longer and hold you accountable to answering questions you don’t have the answers to.

Some people retreat into their shell after heartbreak and practice loneliness as their religion. Others, lush out into the crowd looking to patch wounds by borrowing ephemeral satisfaction. Can you guess which one are you? 

And if you find this insulting or out of order, I’m glad. This means you actually have the capacity for feelings of such intensity.  

That’s all from me. For now, that is. Because I’m pretty sure it won’t be long till life puts together another scenario that reminds me of you. A woman wearing your perfume, meeting someone with your name or some other form of trigger that will make me sick enough to wanna lock myself in an empty room and write.  

Talk to you soon.