I don’t want him anymore. I don’t love him anymore. I don’t even want him to want me. (I’m not sure when precisely all that happened…it took more than one month, fewer than three months.) But I want him not to resent me — and how dare he resent me, after all? He still thinks it’s all my fault, that I changed, somehow, and thereby forced him to end it.
I want him not to be in love with someone else so soon. I want not to care about whether or not he’s in love. I want to be in love. I want to feel again, deeply, thoroughly. I want not to feel lonely, not to feel alone. I want to stop feeling overwhelmed. I want to stop feeling always on the verge of tears, always on the verge of a breakdown, always on the verge.
I want to remember that I don’t always feel on the verge…the times when I do are becoming fewer and farther between. Of course, those are the times when I’m compelled to write.
I want to get through this weekend, so I can stop counting down to the day when I’m not getting married. I want to celebrate this weekend, celebrate that I’m not marrying someone who’s clearly not the right person for me. I want to give thanks that it ended before the wedding instead of after, give thanks that I’ve been given a second chance to find the “real” love of my life. I want to see this as a turning point. I want to be turning toward something new, not turning away from something.