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Moving on, but not really

Am I over him yet? Maybe. Yes. I think so. Yes. No. Maybe. Let's see. 

Every time my phone beeps, my heart skips a beat in the hope that it might be him. 
Every time my phone rings, part of me wants the screen to display his number which by the way I still remember by heart even though I deleted it long ago. 
Every time I become part of a crowd, my eyes wander trying to land on that one face I used to cup with my hands. 
But I have moved on. I am over him. Right?


At least that's what I tell myself every night before I go to sleep. And quite frankly, that's what helps me sleep. 
Every time I see someone as tall as him, with a complexion similar to his, and a walk that reminds me of him walking away, I almost run toward the man only to embarrass myself and apologise for the intrusion. 
Sometimes I even dream about him and wake up in the middle of the night startled because I can't tell if it was a sweet dream or a nightmare. 
Every time I see a young couple walk hand in hand, I secretly hope that the guy isn't him. 
Every time our song comes on, I wonder if it still is our song. 
Every time I enter the men's section in a mall, I find myself picking out tees and shirts I would have liked him to wear. His tees and shirts that I would have worn after we made sweet love. 
Every time a guy wearing the perfume similar to his walks past me, my senses become sharp as a hound's. 
But I'm not still in love with him. I am in nothing with him. He knows. 
Every time I drink wine, I compare the sourness of grapes to the sourness in my heart.
But the taste of his lips, the only taste my mouth savoured back in the day, nothing compares to that. 
It wasn't perfect but it was my first. And firsts are not supposed to be perfect. They are supposed to be just that. First.  
I am not clingy but I am not sure. I don't love him anymore. 
And if you ask me, if I still believe in love, I'll tell you I don't. Because once bitten, twice shy. Every time I think I'm not capable of love, I think maybe it's him that's not. And maybe it's true. It could be true. 
And after all this while, I find myself writing something that I wouldn't want 5-year-older-me even thinking about. 

But I have moved on, haven't I? 

Mujhse peheli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang...
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