Letting go

It’s almost midnight. The rain still softly falls on the windowsill, the blades of the ceiling fan turn slowly just enough to keep the buzzing mosquitoes away. 

The trivial noises fill my ears for they don’t know my thoughts are narcissistic. My thoughts demand to be heard as they keep getting louder with every spin of the fan. 

What did he mean by ‘who’s the settler?’. Why do I still have feelings for him? I am in a happy place, in a happy relationship, getting married in a few months. 

Do I still love him? Him who has always been rude to me, who has been nothing but hurtful, who’s never felt any kind of love for me. 

Why does my heart still flutter when I see his name on my phone? Why are there butterflies in my stomach when I respond to his messages? Why do I put all else on hold only to reply to that one text when I know he might never continue the conversation? 

Do I still love him? This can’t be love, could it? I’ve tried to tell him off. I’ve tried to hurt him with my stinging words. Remorse, remorse is all I feel after hurting him. Why does the text message I sent him months back still haunt me? I recollect every word. Should I apologise? You were right in telling him off though, says angrily the voice of reason. 

Closure. Maybe closure is what I need. Maybe that’s what I don’t have. Should I tell him that? It’s still raining, and it’s almost 30 minutes past midnight. 

Does he ever think of me the way I think of him? Skipping a look at his WhatsApp picture as I scroll through my contacts doesn’t help much either. Did he ever have feelings for me? Did he ever think of me as someone he could spend the day with and not just the night? 

*Delete chat*

Lights dim, patter of raindrops reach the eardrums again, silence of the buzzing mosquito. Letting go is an art meant only for a few. 

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