Autopilot

It’s been more than a month. Occasionally I look at the dates, only to be shocked at how little time has passed. Time passes so slowly when your mind is cluttered with repeating “what ifs”. You feel exhausted, thinking it’s been months. Only to find out a mountain of memories has been compressed into slightly more than 30 days.

June is soon upon us – reminding me of how much time I’ve lost in replaying distant memories. I’ve been on autopilot for most days. Waking up before noon, going through life’s routines, smiling on cue; mindless about how disassociated I’ve become. A temporary mechanism to hold myself together. I used to look forward to Sunday nights when I’d get to see him. Now Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and the rest of the nights,

Blur into 7 days, making me weak.

I’m moving forward, but not moving on. Like sand in a time glass, always flowing but never getting anywhere. I’ve gotten a job, started working out, and even booked flights to visit other countries. Yet my mind still stays in one place, anchored in thoughts of him.

I wish I could say I had to rely on things to stay functioning. At least I could say “I wasn’t myself” or blame it on some time I was high. That I had to ingest substances to really say how I feel.

But my unwavering tendency for self control forces me to be responsible for every word I say. Unable to blame anything else for my honesty.

So I don’t drunk-call anymore. Because I don’t want to be responsible for telling you,

That I still cry about us sometimes.

Written by Abigail Tan Sze-Xin. All rights reserved.

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