We've all been there. And if you haven't yet, you will.

It'll be difficult at first. Some days you'll want to stay in bed all day because you don't see a light at the end of the tunnel. Some days you'll cry, and scream his name, and curse the world because it isn't fair. How could he do this?

Some days you'll want to dress up, and go find a new boy, one who will treat you right. But you know the second you step out in that dress, and that makeup, you'll feel your stomach drop and your heart break in two all over again because how could you just forget him that easily? how could you move on so quickly?

He'll creep into your mind just when you think you're getting over him. He'll be there to stop you from moving on because that's just the kind of person he was, and is.

But you'll move on. You will. It'll take time, and it'll hurt but moving on is inevitable.

Moving on is not forgetting about someone in an instant. It is not as simple as deleting a phone number or burning old pictures. It is not a slam of the door, walking away without looking back. There is no erasure, no wiping away. It's never a clean break. It's never a clean slate.

Moving on is pretending not to see his face every time someone mentions the color blue. Moving on is lying awake at night, trying so hard to sleep but you can't, telling yourself that it's not because you miss him, you're fine, you're fine, you're fine.

Moving on is walking past his house and sipping your coffee, trying to focus on how bitter it tastes. Don't look at that house. Don't look in his window. Don't hope that he's there.

Moving on is batting your eyelashes at another boy and trying to ignore the rock in the pit of your stomach, heavy and hard. Moving on is letting that boy take you home late at night. Moving on is showing him that you are capable of loving someone other than the one who tore you up. Moving on is eating his favorite cereal for breakfast but wondering why. You never even liked Cheerios. You never even liked cereal in general.

Moving on is fingers hovering over the delete button of a voicemail from twenty-seven weeks ago.

You'll press it eventually.

Eventually. Eventually, you'll move on. Eventually you will forget what his voice sounded like, what his skin felt like, what his shirts smelled like. No more missing him, no more losing sleep, no more knots in your stomach or in your hair.

Moved.

But for now you are just moving. And you will move as slowly as you need, for as long as it takes. You will move on, and it will feel like freedom.