I run faster now, picking up the pace. I am sick of it, the pace I had been going at. It was frustrating, having my past hold me back all this while, having you holding me back all this while. My shoelaces come undone, but I continue to run, afraid of losing the adrenaline that had kept me going for the last few miles. It was always like this, it always has been. I don’t intend on seeing it any other way. I see the headlights of cars flashing past me in a brilliant stream of colours, probably thinking me to be a crazy person who would roam the streets at night. Rain continues to fall as I step into puddles of muddy, murky water. Running as fast as I can, I still remember everything. The rain won’t wash it away, it won’t dissipate.

“I’ll get used to it, I’ll get used to it,” I tell myself, whispering it softly over the roar of traffic and the loud of pattering of unrelenting rain.

It’s almost like you were ridiculing me, almost like you were at the end of the road, taunting me to run faster to reach for you, to touch your smooth hand. I run, again and again, trying to catch your fingers before it slips out of my grasp. But the rain had washed your taunting image away, cruelly. There are no longer any traces of your smirking face, your arched eyebrows and your haughty demeanour. I miss it. I have learnt to hate, get used to and eventually love it. But I hate that I do love it, because now, all I see is you.

I hate it that you have made me this way, because everything, everyone I see, I compare with you and everything falls short in comparison. I can’t accept this reality, but I continue to run the streets at night, hoping that by wearing my body out, sleep will come to me. No such thing. Sleeplessness is second nature to me by now. I toss around and yet my eyes refuse to close shut without being granted the arms that so naturally wrap around my waist. I turn over to your side, where you used to lie. That was when I know it was another night I lost to you.

My pride is wearing thin and I can no longer keep up with this expressionless façade I had intended on keeping when our love had expired. I hate you. I force myself to accept this, because this is the only way I can live on. I hate you for the gentle touches to my back when I was worried, I hate you for the filling stares that mean everything, I hate you for doing all those things to me when you knew leaving had been inevitable.

I prove people that had expected me to break wrong by walking ahead with my head held high. Of course, my head could only be held high for so long. I scold myself for still holding onto a small part of you and tell myself that it wasn’t worth, that you weren’t worth it.

My worn out shoes sploshed into the puddles but yet, I go on. This is the only way I can forget, by running, by worrying about my shoes that have been worn out by friction and the slippery steps up ahead. I cannot be sure when I will stop, or when I will tire and burn out, like a candle left in the wind. My pulse throbs dully in my ears and blood rushes up to my face, and it seems as if I’m blushing uncontrollably. It amazes me, and I wonder how I can still blush. My frozen cheeks that have been that way ever since you left.

I still do think of you, and I admit that the tears I suppress sometimes burden me. I worry that tears will spill just by think of you or at the mention of your name. Even the sight of your favourite bookstore conveniently just across the street causes another wave of emotions to churn and cause unwanted turmoil in me. I want to forget, but I myself wouldn’t let go. Whenever a stray tear comes past my control and slips down my face, I feel ashamed that I can’t think of you without shedding tears that you hadn’t shed for me at all.

I feel numb as I rest my palms on my knees and bend over, veiling my face with my hair that had come loose during my run. But I felt something missing in me. It was as if you had taken a part of me as well and have yet to return it to me, just like my oversized shirt and the ring you probably still kept on your finger. I press a hand to my chest and rub the flesh there, trying to soothe my pounding heart.

“I’ll get used to it.”

You have been the one to intend this, not me. And in any way, I will not be the one to feel that loss for you. Iwill not fall on my haunches and beg. I will not wait everyday by your apartment and hope for you to come out. You made the choice and I will make sure that you suffer because of it. Even if my heart breaks, yours should too. Even when sleep doesn’t come easily to me, it shouldn’t come as easily to you either. Someway, somehow, I’m sure you are suffering just as much as I am as well. We are that small step from each other.

I am not going to be the first to take the step as I had done before.

My drenched clothes stuck to my body, and the rain had mixed with my sweat, dripping down the sides of my face. I remember that the ring slips easily on my wet finger and take it off immediately, tucking it in my pocket. I can’t explain why I still kept the ring. Maybe, it’s that small hope, that small possibility that you want me back just as badly. Maybe it’s that small thinking that I can see you at my doorstep. Maybe it’s that small chance that you still kept your ring safely.

“I’ll get used to it.”

No. No. I won’t ever get used to it. I won’t ever get used to this. I won’t ever get used to the roaring in my ears, the strange, growing weight in my heart that felt as if I was being yanked off my feet, the thudding pulse at my neck. I won’t ever get used to the lit streets and the dry, cold night air. I won’t ever get used to this.

I continue to run again, but this time, I go against the flow of the traffic and race to wherever my feet brought me. I’ll admit that I wasn’t surprised when I found myself at your doorstep. I pound on the door and yell for you, not caring if you were in or not, not caring if you have neighbours and that it’s late at night. You open the door and seem to be taken aback by the mess of me.

“Jessica…?”

“I won’t get used to it,” I wail, weeks of being suppressed and restrained finally breaking loose in one agonising cry. “I won’t get used to it.”

I realise, numbly, that I can’t feel my heartbeat anymore. Maybe you had taken that too. I feel your arms go around me and my head being propped up on your shoulder, your hands rubbing my back soothingly.

“It’s okay. I can’t either.”