It's been a week and a half since the unsurprising end of my relationship with Mr. Something's-Not-Right, and I think I've made my way through the worst of the post-breakup funk. I credit the usual painkillers: lots of sleep, TV marathons (I'm getting good use out of my Sex & the City DVDs), a pint of hazelnut chocolate gelato, and a little time.
Something else that helped was that the day after we ended things, he sent me an "it's not you; it's me" email. He said he just wanted to make sure I knew that he thought I was amazing. Our personalities and lifestyles seemed like an incredible match, and he was frustrated that we were so likely to click and yet he had such an inexplicable disconnect. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but I deserved someone who could give himself to me 100%. He was already jealous of that guy. He also already missed me.
I thought it was a sweet, unnecessary gesture, and though it didn't make the situation any less depressing, it did take down my frustration a few notches. I wrote him back once and told him I understood. It was sad, but if he wasn't feeling that special something with me, then that can't be helped. Still, I thought he was a great guy and in spite of the way things turned out, I was glad we met and got to spend even that short amount of time together.
It felt like good closure. -–But I still miss him. I miss a lot of things, but I particularly miss just talking to him and knowing him. Since we had so much in common, dated for such a short time, and ended things more or less amicably, I've been toying with the idea of if we could one day be friends. Granted, it'll be a while until it could realistically be possible, and by then I may not even be interested, but it's an intriguing prospect that helps dull the sense of loss. Maybe it's just a crazy thought that's the mental equivalent of sleeping too much and eating too much ice cream. Legitimate idea or coping mechanism? Only more time will tell.
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