Here’s how you move on:

You remember how breathtaking it felt to be with him. How you literally couldn’t breathe because he made you laugh that hard, your cheeks ready to explode from the blushing. Because the aftermath of his kiss made blood rush to your lips when his own disconnected for a split second. Because you didn’t have anymore space for breathing since your lungs were blooming with a garden that grew every time you thought of him. You remember these feelings, and how that was the way he stole your breath.

Not your heart.

Your heart is still yours. He didn’t steal that. Sure, your heart needs the oxygen to continue pumping, but it doesn’t need the oxygen he took.

That oxygen is heavy and haggard. But it’s okay to breathe it in once more; let it fill you once more; allow your heart to feel the weight and wear of this stale oxygen once more. You will feel a different kind of breathlessness: suffocation.

This is because you are breathing the air that will strain your heart to pump the blood you need. But it’s okay to pump this blood once more; let it fill you once more; allow your body to live with the blood that is spent and spoiled once more. Your blood will no longer flush your cheeks or tingle your skin.

This is because you are living with the blood that was fabricated from the tainted oxygen he has taken. But it’s okay to live with this pollution once more; let it fill you once more; allow your self to feel the circulation of the broken breath and blackened blood once more.

Then, draw it out. Metaphorically and literally. Cleanse your self of this darkness and paint with it. Dip your brush into the cold, feeble blood and craft something breathtaking. You will breathe easier, live stronger, and feel unstoppable because now you are breathing your own damn air, orchestrating the pumping of blood that is fresh and ripe with possibilities. So make choices that will improve you.

Take back your own breath, don’t let him keep it. This is your oxygen, your heart, and your self.