The Moment I Knew It Was Over

Blank pages turned to pages saturated with ink to match my ever so changing mood. The days I wrote in red, I was in love; the days written in black were filled with anger; blue pen signified I knew it was one of the sadder days, and whenever I wrote in green – I knew there was something to be learned.

Looking back, everything I ever wrote about him, for him, and to him, never followed a pattern, some days it was in green and others blue. I wrote everything out to make sure I never forgot a word and now as I skim through the pages, I read what I wrote and see colors, but the emotions have ceased to exist.

When you write with passion and intensity those moments exist indefinitely even when the person who wrote them no longer exists, even when the emotions are indeed finite. For me, there is nothing more painstakingly beautiful than to look back on my writing and see how much I’ve grown, to see the ways in which my emotions have developed and shifted overtime, to see how beneficial engaging in introspective behavior can be.My favorite poet, Lang Leav, once wrote, “Writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.”

When I didn’t end up where I thought I’d be, with who I thought I’d have by my side; I wrote. But one day I ran out of words. I remember writing about him for the last time like it was yesterday; the emotions refused to be suppressed any longer, the words finding a way out into the open, streaming out of my body in every color but red.

I dwelled on those words for months, replaying everything we ever did, replaying everything I ever said, realizing each day that what I thought we had, never existed to the caliber I thought it had. That those feelings had been mistaken for red when they were in fact, the furthest thing from it; perhaps a sunset orange, an infatuation.  

I knew it was over when I ran out of words to say. When I sat and held my pen, writers block preventing me from formulating the smallest of phrases. I remember closing my journal in frustration for the very last time and pacing around my bed, just to find a spot on the floor where I sat for hours that night. Sitting there, I realized that when emotions are abundant and genuine, you’ll never run out of words to say, and that was the moment I finally knew.

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