When the love is over

Four weeks to the day that he broke my heart, I moved out of our shared flat. The actual move was easy, the hard part was the goodbye.

He was sat on the bed, Mac on his lap, as I walked in to tell him I was done with the last of my packing and making a move. I wanted him to get up and pull me into his arms, make me feel less alone in that moment but he remained on the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, his blue eyes searching my face.

I didn't want to linger, I'd made myself vulnerable to him too many times over the last month, I didn't have the strength for another rejection. As the seconds ticked by and it was obviously he wasn't going to move, I turned my head away and waved goodbye. I barely got out of the door when I broke down, and remained crying the 25 minute walk to my new 'home'.

I'm not sure if I'm going to stay in this new place long, part of me wants to move closer to my family so I'm not so alone. I'll need them when he finally leaves and I'll never see him again. I don't know why but just knowing he's knocking around somewhere out there in London makes me feel less discarded.

So we're going to try to be 'just friends', which I'll find hard at first.

I miss him being there, and that's what gets me the most; the loss of having that connection with someone, no longer sharing in-jokes, chilling on a sofa with a beer watching a movie. The physical stuff can be replaced by someone else when I'm strong enough but the friendship…

So here's to new beginnings, to taking each day as it comes - for now - and hopefully to new friendships.