Dr. Time

I remember back in 8th grade, the first time that I felt like I fell in love with someone and she then went off and dated someone else. I thought it would never get better. I haven't seen her in years, except for that magic window known as Facebook, and I rarely ever think about that.

I've always been mopey about girls that I like moving on. Honestly, I think it's because it takes me a good long time to move on myself. And that's what I knew was going to happen when she left for Ireland.

If you know me personally, this will make sense. If you don't, then please enjoy the ride. I doubt it will be fun for anyone, I feel like I have to let it out.

We met back in February when I was traveling with a bunch of my friends. We were in Philly, we weren't supposed to be there long. I hadn't intended to do anything except sleep. We met and connected, and I went back to her place. That turned into an eight month relationship that ended this past October when we finally decided that if she was going to be in Dublin for the majority of the next four years, it probably wasn't going to work.

I told myself this was fine, that I could get over it, that I didn't WANT to be in a relationship where the obstacle wasn't just a plane ride, but a trans-Atlantic flight. I occupied myself with other things, classes and job applications and music and friends, and thought everything was fine.

But I'm bad at the whole being single thing. And I started to think about all the things that had been good in the relationship. Maybe I'm idealizing, but I got along with her very well. We had similar tastes in nearly everything and, towards the end, were just so comfortable with each other that it always felt wrong to be apart. At least, to me it felt that way.

I found out today that I wasn't totally right about things. That's what I was told anyway. I didn't really show her how I felt and I didn't really show her how strong I felt them. So when I realized it a few weeks ago, it was a few weeks too late.

This is not to say that I even had control over it, but I wanted so badly to have a second chance, to have a new opportunity to say "This is it for me." And I'm not even scared to admit that. That actually scares me a little, but in a good way.

I have, in some ways moved on. I'm trying to see other people and I'm trying to not think about it. But when I crawl in bed at night, its hard to not let my mind wander there. Maybe if I can get myself with someone else I could forget, but then I start to worry about what would happen if I couldn't.

And on top of it all, I'm probably just being mopey that a girl I loved moved on. And that thought, that I'm still that kid from all those years ago, seems to hurt the most.