Something’s Gonna Hurt You Baby

Love paired with loneliness is blinding.
It blurs the glass standing between what was and what is.
After the changing of the bed sheets, of stashing worn out journals, and seeing rooms cleaned off of sentimental paraphernalia— enough time for the calm to turn into boring neutrality, that’s when loneliness tries to cheekily seep in. That’s when your mind starts pining for someone close in your heart’s proximity, choosing between people you’ve mourned and gotten high off before.
Who recently ruined you? Who did you last love? Who do still you love? It compulsively targets almost and burnt-out lovers. It finds someone to miss.
We then enter this reality altered by nostalgia and forget the reason why it’s all over when we start missing them. We forget that this person deprived you of the love that you miss, of the person they were, which you loved or still love present tense.
We miss them even when they’re completely different now from the person we loved 5 months ago. We become desperate to hear that gentle, validatory “I really do” that came after their first “I love you” once again, brushing off that slightly vague memory of the last time they said those three words as if it’s a question, in a voice void of tenderness and intimacy.
“His love was profound.”
“Nobody loves me like you do.”
“They are the love of my life.”

Suddenly, the past seems more beautiful than it actually is. Despite numerous disappearances, empty spaces, monotonous conversations, and terrifying silences, when we reminisce about their once profound love, once constant affection and attention, assuring and comforting silences, and intimate texts, Old Love starts to feel closer again— it starts to feel salvageable.

By Sam Fabian