Whatever it is, regardless of the pain, I slept continuously on the night that we broke up even after forgetting to turn on the white noise machine. It is not that essential to my sleep after all.
I walk down Magdalene Street with a sudden stab of nostalgia for the simple pleasures of being with him. The special way he holds my hand, covering my thumb with his as if protecting something precious; his awkwardness which I once found adorable, fumbling for the appropriate words to express his feelings for me; our conversation, sometimes meaningfully serious, sometimes ordinarily mundane, sometimes completely silly; and how comforting it felt to have him around. He was my initiation to Cambridge. Perhaps that was the problem: he appeared in a time of uncertainty and I latched on to him partly because he took away the loneliness. But it was more than that; it was also him - his intellect, his ironic sense of humour, his sweetness, the pure goodness of his being.
He got attached, he said; he never gets attached. He got too close. He thought I was different, special even; he'd started to give up some of his freedom and plan things with me in mind. He'd let me into his life, his heart, this fragile organ that I held in my hands with a cavalier blindness to its significance because I was too busy protecting myself. In the end, it slipped from my grip. It shattered upon impact.
I miss him. I want to go to his door and take back everything that I said. I want to undo the damage that I have inflicted. But how do I feel something that I don't feel? How do I make myself see a future that I can't see? I sat down on a bench in front of Prezzo, facing Magdalene Bridge, battling my sentimental side, my fear of the unknown, my attraction to the familiar. I wrote all this down.
Then I came home and I replied to his message that he sent at 6am, telling him that I wish things could go back to the way they were, but it would be a bad idea, and that this is the right thing to do. He replied, saying he'd work hard at making his peace with this. He thanked me for my generous message. He wished me good luck for my moving out tomorrow, my meeting with my supervisors, and wished me a safe flight home. He even said hi to Cow and Totoro.
I was drawn, I think, to his pureness, his idealism, his goodness. But I am repelled from his light by the darkness that is in me - the cynicism, the disappointed idealism, the accumulated baggage of failed relationships and broken hearts, my inability to forgive myself and come to terms with the mistakes that I made in the past. He said that we can heal and repair ourselves; perhaps it is right. I am still waiting for that day to come.
I will miss him.