Kissing fool

Our conversation stops, as we reach the metro entrance. I stay at a socially safe distance from her, holding my bike by my side. The skies are gray and a cold breeze hits our faces, as the night slowly sets in the background. Shitty weather, shitty summer. A Danish classic.
“So… It was nice,” I say, implying the end of our first date.
“Yeah, I had a good time,” she replies. We look at each other with a polite smile for a moment, until silence becomes uncomfortable.
“C’mon, go home,” I say, in a cheeky tone, pointing at the metro behind her. She laughs.
“Okay… I guess I’m going,” she responds, somewhat confused; though she stays in place, immobile.
“I feel like we are waiting for something here,” I say, playfully, disguising my patience running thin.
She fakes a sad face and starts walking towards the metro elevator. Once inside, she turns around and says “I was expecting a ‘goodbye kiss.’ I guess I’m not gonna get one.”
“Wow! Stop right there, missus! Come back!” I say. She steps out and walks up to me. I park my bike, come closer, grab her by the waist and kiss her. It’s a boring, closed-mouth pecker. A passionless, awkward and inane crashing of lips. But nice, in a way. A decent ending for a pleasant evening.
I left with a sense of satisfaction. The day before I had also kissed with another girl I had been on a date with. Felt that I was on a roll. A very good roll. Although, a couple of weeks down the line, I’m forced to face two facts: A) I’ve been ghosted by both seemingly successful dates, without any explanation nor a clue of what the fuck I did wrong; and B) I’m still not completely over my ex. Which may explain fact A, now that I think about it.
It’s a constant crossroad I am stuck at. Choosing between healing, finding myself and somebody new, and better; or forgiving my ex and trying to get her back, to starting anew. But, how? She put me through so much misery that the sole mention of forgiveness sounds insane; an unfeasible feat like those in the Bible, and as unrealistic as every story in it. Then, the fear of not finding someone who can fully replace her makes me doubt and sets me back. All the way back to square one, at the very start of the same damn crossroad. Wondering why I got there and when did everything turn to shit.
Theres only so much hurt, so much insult over injury, I can take. Put the right amount of salt in my open wounds and you’ll see how I will, inevitably, bleed out of love. But why would you do that, to begin with? Why going to such great lengths to break the man you say, so convincingly, “I love you” to? Questions floating in the air, never to be answered.
I don’t know how I didn’t go crazy back then, nor I haven’t gone mad by now. I sometimes feel I loved a fictional character. How much of her was real, and how much just another thread in her web of lies? Yet here I am, like a fucking kid refusing to believe Santa doesn’t exist, because he made him happy once. I guess fake happy is better than not happy at all.
How do you detox from a toxic relationship? What am I doing wrong? Besides -apparently- everything.

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