My cell phone would remind me: my address book changed from his pet name, to his real name, to his initials, to "No." If he called or if I had one of those 2-a.m.-I-just-want-to-understand-what-it-all-means moments, my Sony Ericsson would ask, Accept call? No.
It worked. Forty days of no calls or contact -- except my emails to him, "so-and-so left message on my voicemail yesterday, please call" or "received mail for you, who can I leave it with?" -- Both my stomach and my heart hurt less. After a while, it stopped occurring to me to talk to him.
I don't when it happened. But one day, I ran upstairs to my apartment and realized that I did not peak around the corner first, unconsciously checking if his car was parked in the spot. Silver cars and Mitsubishi Gallants drove by me at bus stops and intersections, and I did not scan the hubcaps anymore. Sprite no longer triggered memories of him. (With my high school sweetheart, it was Mountain Dew. Personally, I stopped drinking soda. Carbonation gives me gas.) Yellow roses no longer made my stomach knot (okay, maybe a little, but I'm not going to let some stupid boy ruin how I feel about yellow roses).
While I sometimes miss couple-ish things, being alone made I realize that what I missed most of all... was me. Hearing myself think without someone else's needs or expectations distracting me. Actually having time (and no one else as an excuse or a scapegoat) to look at my own issues.
And, though it still doesn't occur to me to call him just to chat, I changed my cell phone address book back to his initials.