1 week later. . .

It's been one week since I left Mr. Big's apartment and he called it quits. Sure, everyone loves to remind me of all the fish in the sea, to get back in the  game, and to be thankful "I know now," as opposed to years later. While I appreciate the helpful advice, I'm not at the point where I am even receptive to what their saying. In other words, my heart hurts, my pride is bruised, and my ego is shattered. I'm still trying to make sense of it all. I'm still replaying our entire existence. I'm still contemplating when he decided it wasn't working out. I'm still examining the words that were spoken last week. I'm still analyzing his words and actions. I'm still reflecting back to how beautiful I found him, even when he was kicking me to the curb.

I don't know if it feels it has been a week or a year since he bid me adieu.  But, what I do know is, there was nothing I could do about it. And, one week later, it still hurts.