Today, a month ago, I entered your bedroom—the room in which you slept by yourself after almost a month of our togetherness—and looked at your face. You looked peaceful, your mouth was slightly opened, a sign that you were too tired from our trip the day before. I landed a soft kiss on your cheek. You moved a little and I stepped back, didn’t want to wake you up. Not because it was too early in the morning, but because I had to leave before you’re awake.

That morning, I left you, my lover for a bit over than a year, without saying goodbye. I couldn’t afford any more tears, that’s why. But I couldn’t help it. Tears were streaming down my face as I pulled my big luggage away from you. Away from what used to be “us”.

Today, 31 days after our ‘official’ separation, after I told my family and friends that there’s not going to be a wedding, things still feel surreal. We talked about it a lot, didn’t we? But that’s not what I’ve been thinking about, every single time for 31 days. Not the cancelled marriage. It’s us. How we used to be so happy. How we used to be so in love. How we used to be so crazy for each other. How we used to look at each other. How we used to argue. How we used to fight—until the fight turned into something we no longer had control over.

Today, I had a talk with a very nice girl. “It happened to me, too,” she smiled, “one and a half month before the wedding. I had to send texts to all my family members and call the vendors to cancel everything. It was a huge pain in the ass but come to think of it now, I think it’s God’s way to save me.”

Today, as I opened my eyes, the first thing that came to my mind was a text from my best friend, as soon as she found out that we were separated.

I won’t ask for the details. You can tell me whenever you feel ready. But I want you to know that I love you.”

I remembered all the love, hugs, words of support, and encouragements from so many friends as I transformed into a walking zombie for at least 10 first days. Not to mention the rent-free rooms. I had no idea that I am loved by so many—until that day.

Today, after a visit to my therapist, a craniosacral and a shamanic healing session, I still ask the same questions. I still wonder. I still grieve. But I spend less time in the bathroom. I guess it’s a good sign.

Today, I think of us.

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