Moving On (Part One)

I cleared the contents of my SMS inbox today. Every single one of them.

As I scrolled through the saved messages, I couldn't help but read through them again one last time. It's amazing how much meaning they used to hold. I mull the contents in my head, feeling the ghost of their warmth touch me again briefly, before finally turning hollow and brittle, like empty snakeskins. I am reminded how it felt to have someone send those little missives, someone who cared,and what life was like. It's amazing how such a simple action can prove to be so difficult to perform. They're gone now, like that particular part of my life. To help me move on, I tell myself that I've lost this battle, that there is no more sense in fighting on. The little reminders everyday also help, in their own way.

Enter the present.

I guess the various chat logs I've kept the last few months will have to go, too. Still have them neatly filed away..a remembrance of days past when every trace of a contact would have to be preserved. It was as if just by capturing the content, every nuance, gesture and emotion could be captured too (silly, I know). An internal spring cleaning perhaps, one that's become extremely overdue and whose time has finally come.

There are memories and stories in every SMS and email, arguments and jokes, fights and laughter, hopes, dreams and..plans.

The best laid plans of mice and men,
Gang 'oft a gley
Burns(thanks to Arrelle)

I'm done with plans, for now. They're good in a way, but they're also risky. It's going to be awhile until I can formally make some more, but I need to heal first. Very badly. I'm even unsure on where to do my PhD.

Still, I think I can lose myself anywhere, if I really want to.

Gaah.

I hate it that I can't move on, that it's so difficult to let go even when there's no chance in heaven (or hell) I'll get what I lost back. She's made up her mind. And she doesn't mince any words telling me that she has. It's up to me to do the manly thing, now.

Oh, and another thing. I really need to stop these self-piteous entries. But I suppose they'll run their course.

I wish.
I wish I was asleep.
But I'm not, and no one's going to be there when I wake up out of this scary dream.
Not any more.

Goodnight, blog.

Postscript: Watching Sex And The City helps, in a very weird way. Thank God for DVDs, LoL.