And yea. For a minute or 3oo days, you’ll think…
By: Nicky Gott
Tags: Love Letters, Breakups, Love Life, Life

For a minute or 3oo days, you’ll think you are over it. In fact, you will walk around claiming to be over it. You will unfollow them on Instagram while listening to Eye Of The Tiger and thinking: I’m over it. RIP. DONE.

You’ll go out with the girls, maybe hook up with some cute bearded manboy, grab Chinese, Netflix, and chill, and 5 dates (gone wrong) later…you are back stalking the living hell out of Voldemort. You’ll take tennis classes. You’ll discover The White Album. You’ll pick up a few hobbies: Kitting and shit. You’ll buy a new bicycle. You’ll make new friends. You’ll spend the summer doing 8ks. You’ll go on a few tinder dates. You’ll island hop in Greece and probably meet tons of cute manboys who look a lot like Hercules. You’ll take self-defense classes. You’ll learn a few BJJ moves. You’ll lose 10 pounds. So. Obvs, someone out there might probably be telling him about how cool you are. I mean, based on your check-ins and photos… you are living your best life. I take that back. You are living your best facebook life. And curating every aspect of your (Facebook) life makes it seem like you are over it. Entirely moved on, no?

Until you bump into a friend one day, and he tells you that Voldi is in a new relationship with Blah, and they’re actually happy. Like fo reals happy. They could easily be the new Brad and Angelina and probably get engaged soon and pop an army of cute babies. And your heart sinks. And your hands sweat. And tears build up. And the burrito you were about to eat is sadly thrown away.

You pack your bags one day, and you are on a plane on your way to Asia. Do the whole “Eat, Pray, Love” thing and end up in some ashram in India thinking of not thinking of him. You do the whole “I am going to date myself” thing for a year, and it doesn’t work out. You consider getting a cat. You meet a new guy, and the butterflies are there, but the commitment ain’t. 4 failed relationships later, and you are back in your room drinking kombucha and contemplating if you are really over it. Are you?

600 days later, you see him in person, and he’s healthy AF. In fact, he’s so healthy, and he radiates wellness. His hair is shiny, and his skin has that perfect “I eat a lot of kale” glow, his voice is calm, he smells like coconuts, and he has that yogi vibe that wasn’t there 600 days prior.

And that alone makes you dislike him. A lot. Because he should probably move out of the country. The country? The planet! He should be the first person to write his name on that Mars expedition.

But fuuuuudge it. You get bangs and sign up for salsa classes… cus’ why not?

So. A lot of time goes by, a lot of haircuts, mistakes, learning lessons, one-way plane tickets, 3:00 am bathroom meltdowns, and you bump into him at that little coffee shop, and he’s not healthy AF. His hair isn’t shinning and he doesn’t have the courtesy to tip the waitress. He doesn’t have that yogi vibe, and let’s face it, he probably never did. And for the first time in 700+ days, you are (actually) okay. Not the “Facebook okay” or the “insta ok” but the “forealls ok.” The birds are chirping, and the sun is out, and you realize that it’s over.

And yea.