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Un-learned

"How do you move on from someone who’s already moved on from you?"

Noah stared at his phone screen, the words from his sister blinking back at him. He read it again, then again, trying to process not just her question, but the weight of it.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to give her an answer, something comforting, wise—something that would sound like he knew what he was talking about. But his mind was a mess, full of fragmented thoughts and unresolved feelings. He’d been trying to "move on" for what felt like forever, yet every time he thought he was making progress, something would hit him out of nowhere—a memory, a song, a picture that didn’t belong to him anymore—and he'd be back at square one.

He glanced at the screen again, and the question seemed to pulse in the quiet room. His fingers twitched, but no words came. How could he explain the part of him that kept clinging to what was gone? He couldn’t. At least, not yet. Not when he still wasn’t sure how to answer that for himself.

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thing was, he knew what people said. He’d heard all the clichés, all the advice: "Time heals." "You’ll find someone better." "It’s just a chapter, not the whole story." But none of that felt real when he was the one living it. When he was the one who still saw their face in his dreams and felt the absence like it was a part of his own skin.

His thumb finally hovered over the keyboard again, and he typed out a response.

"I don’t know exactly, B. It’s like trying to unlearn something that you’ve known for too long. But I guess… you just keep going. Even when it feels like you can’t. And maybe one day, it won’t hurt as much."

He stared at the message, reading it over and over, wondering if it was enough. It wasn’t an answer, not really. But maybe it didn’t have to be. Maybe it was okay to admit that he didn’t have all the answers, that he was still figuring it out, too.