2 words, and your love story comes to a screeching halt.
What was supposed to be your happily ever after, becomes a sentence, left incomplete.
What could have been your forever, becomes a demon that haunts you, a ‘what if’.
But no one will know that, will they?
You see, you always win at break-ups. You go through the motions of a makeover, talk about the ‘new you’, and boast about how you always knew you could do so much better anyway. You slap on some makeup to hide the sleepless nights and colour your forgotten lips bright red. You dance till your body begs you to stop, and then some more. All so that you can fool yourself into thinking that your body is all that aches. As if your heart is still whole, unbroken and unwounded.
“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
That’s the mantra of our generation: don’t waste your time grieving, it takes away from the living. You only live once, right? So we’ve got to rush to finish everything off. Experience everything we can. Upload as many images as we can, because pictures or it didn’t happen, right? You see, we aren’t the generation of tired old cliches like tubs of ice cream and tear stained cheeks. We are the generation of waterproof mascara and perfect selfies. We are the generation of distractions. Social media makes sure of that. We need to show off our fabulous lives on Instagram. So we take killer post break-up selfies for Tinder, hoping that our ex stumbles upon it.
We refuse to feel the tidal wave of emotions, that bubble beneath our thick, yet wounded skin.
So you do what the rest of us do – you distract yourself, because it’s easy.Your brain has made your body thick-skinned, and your beautiful heart becomes something you’re ashamed of.In the generation of distractions, lost love is rarely one of them.So you wrap yourself up in another’s arms, searching for fleeting moments of love. You replace monogamy with endless flings, immerse yourself in work, refusing to think. You’ve had the real thing, survived the storm that came with it. You need rest, for no one can survive a storm unscathed. But in the generation of distractions, there’s no time to lick your wounds. There’s no time to heal your broken heart, so you hide it behind hollow laughter and smiles that don’t reach your eyes. A part of you screams that it’s unhealthy, but a bigger part screams that it’s ‘cool’. But then you wake up, and realise that it’s all mechanical, and you, my dear, are beautifully human.That your fabulous life doesn’t go beyond those selfies.
For all the witty messages on Tinder won’t erase those shy ‘heys’. A blocked number won’t erase the 4AM phone calls and drunken confessions of love. Pulling unhealthy all nighters at work won’t erase the nights you spent talking about dreams spoken out loud for the first time. Because beneath all those right swipes, those casual hook-ups, those lifeless smiles, that perfect ‘single’ life, you know that your skin longs for hands that know ever crevice of your body. As you kiss a new pair of lips, you long for that familiar brush against them. It strikes you that maybe you haven’t moved on. For how could you? In the generation of distractions, in the race to move on, you’ve been left behind.
Maybe you’ll keep up with the right-swipes, and kiss a new pair of lips till your heart finally breaks free and demands your attention. For you have felt love, and your heart demands that you honour that love. All those rebounds, well, they’ll eventually just serve as a reminder of what you once had. Maybe you’ll unblock a number and begin with small talk before sending an ‘I miss you’ text. Maybe you’ll fall back into familiar arms, kiss the lips that spoke words you once hated. You wrap yourself up in that quilt of comfort, only to realise that you breath a different type of magic now. You picked up the pieces alone, only to realise that they don’t go together. You’re not the same puzzle anymore. You’re not the same person. You’re stronger, maybe. Stupider. Braver. Nothing is the same. And so, you finally begin to feel.
Maybe you’ll feel pathetic, crumble under the realisation that you aren’t strong. That your heart, isn’t in fact, sculpted of stone. Maybe you’ll celebrate the fact that your strong, still beating heart never could be held back. That the cracks on your skin speak of a life well lived, of pain that is uniquely yours. Or maybe you’ll just go back to feeling pathetic. But you aren’t. For feeling your heart break apart, cell by cell, simply means that you’re alive. That you experienced the casual rebounds and demanded more. Because that’s the thing about broken hearts: they don’t stay broken forever. You broke up with the intention of hiding any evidence of weaknesses, and rebounded only to miss the weakness.
You see, it’s a generational thing. The dancing till your body demands rest, so that you can ache and act like you’re just tired. This definition of the perfect ‘rebound’, filled with touches that mean nothing and kisses that are best left forgotten.This pretense of ‘okay’, because today, you will not be okay. And somewhere between tomorrow and a thousand, breathtaking sunrises, you will find yourself again. Somewhere between tidal waves that nearly destroyed you, you will find that ripple of calm. A place to anchor the ship of your heart, and call it home. Someday, between the stifled cries for help and smiles that come naturally, you will be okay.
All I ask of you is to feel.
Feel the pain, the hopelessness, the hope.
Feel the heat of the tears that will eventually stop flowing.
Feel the world around you, for it has not come to an end
Only a part of it has.
For we are the generation of break-ups done wrong
And rebounds done right.
We are the generation of break-ups left unfelt,
and rebounds that demands for us to feel.
But go beyond us, my dear, for you can.
Because why wait for the rebound to finally heal?
Replace the empty bottles with empty cafes
Feel the emotions that make you, you
Go beyond us, because you can.