Continuum

It’s not so momentous as you’d expect.
I guess I just kind of realised… months and months ago that I’d stopped holding on and not really noticed. Lost my grip and breathed a sigh of relief. And while I searched so hard, for so long, for that big bang
that crucial moment
that swooping scene in which I could finally say, “Hey, I’m over you!” – it never needed to happen. It would have been attaching way too much importance to the whole emotional mess. And so no, moving on is not so momentous as you’d expect.
It’s just nice. It’s just easy. It’s natural.

That’s where I was going wrong before. Always straining my eyes for the fireworks or bolting for the horizon. Trying to hurry the whole thing up.
[Twenty minutes at two hundred degrees, or ten at four hundred… right?]

It’s such a cliché that these things take time, but…

[There was no one moment or minute or day I can remember realising that I was over him. I mean, I met you and bam! the world spun itself around. But even that fell into place graciously. It just made sense, and sense lasts a lifetime. And nothing of that quality is created in a flash.]

…that’s the thing about flashy showstoppers: they’re over the second after you realise they’ve begun. They’re like nightmares – as soon as you see them for what they are, they lose their power. Disappear. Not one revelation about forgetting him truly made sense, and with you… it was just dormant instinct. Waiting to wake. There’s no one moment when it seems you’ve known something forever, and there was no one moment of getting over him.

Things change and leave and grow. Things explode and implode. Things fade away.
They exist one at a time.