Riding the grief wave until I hit shore again

It’s been 10 months, and I think the hardest thing to explain is that I know it’s over… but sometimes I still can’t fully believe it’s over.

Not in a delusional way.

Not in a “we’re secretly getting back together” way.

Just in a very human way.

Sometimes I sit there and think about everything we shared, everything we survived, everything we planned, and my brain just can’t make sense of the fact that this person is no longer in my life.

I know breakups happen every day.

I know people move on.

I know exes become strangers.

But every once in a while, I find myself staring into space wondering:

Relationships that meant everything really end?

Because when you’re in it, you never think you’re building memories.

You think you’re building a future.

You don’t realize that one day the inside jokes, the late-night talks, the routines, the plans, and the person themselves might all become something you only revisit in your mind.

There’s a scene in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness where Dr. Strange sees a memory of having dinner with Christine, and he tears up.

That scene hit me harder than I expected.

Not because of the dinner itself.

But because of what it represented.

That feeling of looking at something that was once your real life and realizing it’s now just a memory.

A memory that still feels alive.

A memory that still feels close enough to touch.

A memory that your heart remembers more easily than your mind accepts.

And I think that’s where I am sometimes.

I don’t spend every day crying.

I don’t spend every day waiting.

But every now and then, I get hit with this strange feeling that our story can’t possibly be finished.

Not because I know we’ll get back together.

Not because I think fate owes me another chapter.

But because my heart still struggles with the idea that someone who mattered that much could simply become part of my past.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking I’ll hear from him again someday.

Not because I have evidence.

Not because I’m hanging onto signs.

But because when someone becomes woven into your daily life, your future, your dreams, and your sense of home, it’s difficult to imagine the final page being the final page.

I think grief is weird like that.

Part of you knows the truth.

Part of you accepts reality.

And another part is still standing in the doorway saying:

“Wait… that’s really it?”

Maybe that’s why this feels so strange.

Because I don’t think I’m struggling to accept that the relationship ended.

I think I’m struggling to accept that something so meaningful can end at all.

That two people can love each other, change each other forever, and still walk away in different directions.

And maybe that’s one of the hardest parts of growing up.

Realizing that some people become a permanent part of your story without becoming a permanent part of your life.

I know it’s over.

I do.

But some nights, the weight of that truth feels brand new all over again.

So tonight I’m just sitting with it.

Riding the grief wave until I hit shore again.