In a minute of weakness I messaged you last Monday saying I missed you. I immediately regretted it, but oh well.
A week later you message me back, asking if I were okay, apologising for not answering earlier, saying you didn’t want to make it worse for me.
I’m definitely not replying to this pity text. I dropped my self-respect back then, I’ll admit. But it was a fleeing moment, no more. Too many things reminded me of you that weekend and things weren’t going well elsewhere.
I’m good. Not happy, but content. I’m still getting over the breakup, I won’t lie. But as time goes by, I realise how strong and self sufficient I’ve become. I met someone really great for me, but when it was over, I didn’t break down, there was no feeling of huge hurt or deprivation. Just sadness and disappointment.
Another thing I’m discovering is that I was always in a rush, measuring time in hours or minutes, never weeks or even days. I’m not anymore. If my personal life doesn’t pick up in the next few weeks or even months, it’s all good. I have other things to keep me occupied.