step one.
you drink. you drink like alcohol is your life source and each gulp is necessary for breath. you make a game. when you say his name? three shots. when you think about him? three bottles. you drink until you forget his name — but really, you’re only going to forget your own.
step two.
you write his name on a messy sheet of paper, your handwriting about as slurred as your speech. you fill each gap with his name, every empty space filled with the curve of j’s and the dots of i’s, the lines of t’s. you step back, look at your masterpiece. crumple it. toss it. then repeat. repeat until you’ve memorized the way your pen curls when writing his name - as if you haven’t already.
step three.
you burn his clothing. all the boxers, the band shirts, the beanies, toss them into the flame. retrieve them after five seconds; burn your hands in the process. wash them. sleep in them.
step four.
fall in love with someone else. but their eyes will not be his eyes. their smile will not be his, his that lights up his entire face, his that did not mend your scars but held your heart in hands and did not break it. they will try, try so hard, but they will never embrace like he did, so
step five*.
you don’t.
you don't get over him. because you will never meet anyone who will pierce you like he did, who could melt you with a look and freeze you with another. you were cracked and flawed and broken and he saw you and he loved you, he took you and cradled you and your scars can never be taken away, there will always be pain; love is not an easy ride. but where there is pain there is joy, in an amount *overwhelming, and in all things bad and good they are wonderful. as he is, as you are, as both of you are together.
you never get over him. you never stop loving him.
i sure didn’t.