It's been ages since we've really talked, you and I. We exchange text messages and words and even quick phone calls to catch up but we haven't really talked in a long time. We haven't really listened to each other. So I wonder whether you'll understand why I have to leave you. I can't continue to live in the past and hold on to you, even if it is in just a very small corner of my heart. I can't continue to think about the life that we might have led, because it keeps me from living the life I'm in right now. It keeps me from moving on.

Moving on. I don't like that phrase, because it implies that I'm going to relocate my heart and body and mind to another place and I hate moving. I'm not good at packing up stuff, throwing out old furniture and files and clothes that no longer belong, and reorganizing everything into neat little boxes, ready to be unpacked again at the new location. I hate the stuff that's involved with moving: the forwarding address stamped on envelopes that make me wonder if I'm receiving all my mail from my old address; the waking up in the middle of the night wondering where I am and for a split second forgetting where the new bathroom is located; and the drifting about in a daze, trying to find the best coffee shop in the new neighborhood.

Nothing is forever, though, is it? I should know that by now. I should have known that when you turned and looked at me 2 years ago as if you would never look at me again; I should have known that you were getting ready to leave. I should have known that then. But, if I didnt then, I should know now that it's high time that I left you too.