48 days

48 days ago, a phone call which came late in the night, completely shattered my heart.

48 days is more than a month. Yet I feel like I haven't had time to properly grieve. At first, I cried all that night and all the next day. Then I summoned the strength to take on my final exams. Which I managed to score an A-, a B+, a B and a B- for, which was surprising, but I'm grateful that I pulled through. Then I didn't really allow myself to cry anymore. I spent every day filling my time with things to do, and packing, and psyching myself up for my big inaugural couch surfing experience and then the next thing I knew I was on a holiday and my parents and brother were with me.

To be honest, I thought I was handling the situation pretty well. I laughed heaps with my friends and my family. I took many smiling pictures and enjoyed my mini adventure. I took in the mountains and the lakes and the ice wholeheartedly and didn't waste a drop of tear throughout the whole trip. I did think about it whenever I was alone, every now and then, but company was never too far away so I guess a diversion was easy to come by. I thought by the end of it, my wounds would've healed and I would've been strong enough to face coming back here with the knowledge that things are going to be a whole lot different.

I guess I'm not as strong as I'd like to be. Ever since I've gotten back here, I am silenced by every familiar place. My laughter stifled by every familiar song. My breathing suffocated by every time I drive by the roads that lead to his house. I crumble at the sight objects given to me by him. My throat tightens at the sight of photos. And I just cannot seem to surface from it all.

And I want what every person who goes through a break up wants. I want to emerge victorious. I want to appear stronger, more confident, and well on my way to moving on. I know of friends of mine who would shake their heads when they read this post of mine, because it just means I'm letting him win. Well the truth is, if he does read this, I couldn't really care less.

I am broken. Yes I want to get better. But I feel like I have just started to look at my wounds, and check out the severity of the situation. I have only just realised how much it hurts. And the anaesthesia have long worn off.

I was very much in love for the past 3 years. I was head over heels, blinded, star struck, out of this world, insanely in love with a boy. He was the apple of my eye. And even though our journey wasn't always smooth, I never stopped loving him. I've had some pretty amazing times with him, and even if focusing on the horrible times may help me to move on, I can't help but remember all of the sweetest of days.

I don't know how long I will take to recover. I guess when One Tree Hill episodes stop making me cry, when Vienna Teng stops sounding like knives, when Thursday nights stop making me go "it's Thursday night", when the 20th of every month stop making me feel like going to a shooting range, when his pictures on Facebook stop making me hold my breath, when the mud stains on my bag stop making me think of the Rainforest Music Festival and when I can finally say I'm ok with Vietnam, that's when I know I am on my way to loving somebody else.

But for now, I long to see him, to hear his voice, to hear him say everything can go back to normal. Even though I know it would not. I long for a miracle to happen. I might even start believing in Santa.