Waking up, I could not quite open my eyes, as my tears from the night before had dried, locking my eyelashes closed. It must be late, because the sun coming from the window was too strong to be merely nine in the morning.

I should get up and go to work, but my mind is hazy. I cannot think of anything interesting I would want to say. However, I have deadlines to meet and bills to pay.

With a heavy sigh, I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes gently, coaxing them to open and face the day. Pulling the covers tighter against I to keep out the chill, I stayed curled up, leaning against the headboard of my bed, not quite ready to let the day begin.

My mother was a strong career woman, I had a protective brother and a father that, while always well-humoured, never let an insult unanswered. I had always been taught not to cry over boys, I knew a hundred ways to make him cry too, but that was before I knew what love felt like.

Or so I thought. The past two years had been bliss. Sickly sweet to some people, but perfectly delightful in my eyes, and his too, for a while. Or so he used to say. I sat for just a few minutes more, thinking about the very person I knew I needed to forget.

Limbo Fitzgerald. The name would haunt my greatest dreams and worst nightmares for days and weeks yet to come. He was my brightest day. He was, but he is not anymore. Now he is my darkest night.

We met when I interviewed him, for a piece on the justice system in the city. I was so nervous! The Crooked Lawyer was right in front of me, ready to answer my questions. It was a huge responsibility. One I thought that I handled well, given how he reached out to me again and again. For business, of course.

Eventually, he started calling me on social occasions, and soon, before I even could notice a thing changing, we were going out as boyfriend and girlfriend.

I was naïve to believe that everything was so perfect, and it was not as if anything major was wrong, which might have been the hardest part to stomach. It was not that I or he had been unfaithful, that either of us had done something terrible and unforgivable. No, nothing like that.

Limbo was and remains to be the sweetest young man I had the privilege of knowing. I loved every moment I spent with him. My friends became his friends, my memories were shared in his memories.

However, it all came crashing down when I noticed him pulling away. So, I pulled away too. It was like a natural force was wedged between the two of I, each feeling distanced from the other. I could not explain it, no matter how hard I tried, and no amount of explaining would ease the hurt in the end.

Though… Though I have always noticed that he was off. That there was a part of his life I was never allowed to see. I met his family, I became friends with his sister, but he was always talking about friends I never met, he was always skittish about me coming over to his place, he even seemed to instruct his bounty hunter directly not to interact with me.

Fair enough, I did not let him into every secret I hold, either, but still…

Yesterday hurt like hell. The wound was still fresh, heart still aching. Maybe it should have been easier, knowing it was, in a way, a mutual decision, but it was still raw, it was still the ending of something special.

I think it is just like that feeling when I finish a book that had no continuation or epilogue, even as I want nothing more than to carry on in the story. I was living it. When the book came to an end, I could not believe there was nothing left. I was left on my own to find a new book to begin, or at least browse the shelves.

All I could think about was the time I had spent with Limbo. The breakfasts, lunches, and dinners I shared. The evenings huddled together under a blanket, and the nights accidentally spent together after falling asleep in his arms, too afraid to disturb my slumber.

As the days slowly pass, I will have to face the music. I have to be the mature adult I am proud to be, I have to pull myself together. This breakup was for the best after all, right?

I wanted what was best for the man I fell in love with, and if the best was somebody else, and not me, then I had to step away. Somebody he could be truthful with, and whole, and that could be honest with him back. I had to let him go, it was only right.

That did not mean it was easy, it did not mean I would move on quickly. Because I could not. I agreed on the split purely so he would not hold on to something if it was not what he wanted or needed, especially since he is exactly what I want, what I need.

I harboured no hatred, how could I when I loved that man so much. Each day will drag by, the remnants of my heart only barely beginning to gather themselves together. The tears will come less frequently, the nights will pass more peacefully, until there was nothing left. It seems sad to me. Is it possible to mourn mourning?

I knew that my days with Limbo were the best days of my life so far, that I would never forget the way he made I feel, but if all that was already in my past, who is to say the best was not still yet to come?