If there's one thing I've learned about a good, strong heartbreak, it's this:
It never- NEVER- goes away for good.
Even after you've gotten rid of his stuff;
Even after you meet someone new;
Even after you re-invent yourself;
Even after you break up with that someone;
Even after you fly across the planet (twice!);
Even after you move far, far away;
Even after you start a new school and job;
Even after you decide to focus on yourself and follow your dreams;
Even after you chose peace;
Even after you take up yoga;
Even after you improve your diet;
Even after you meet another someone;
Even after you gut your place and make it as clean as it could ever be;
Even after you get a new circle of friends;
Even after you gradually throw out all your old clothes and replace them with new ones that don't remind you of that time in the park under a cloudy sky that he practiced watching you walk down the isle to prepare himself for one day marrying you;
Even after you vow never to look in the window of the restaurant he works at when you drive by, glancing in anyway just because you "saw something shiny";
Even after you realize it's over;
Even after you understand that now, all these years later, you can never be with him the way you were, the way you both wanted and believed it could be;
Even after you wake up next to your second someone new, smiling, loving and un-doubting of his devotion or your own;
Even after you buy a new toothbrush (when was the last time you did that?);
Even after you chastise yourself for slipping up and stalking his Facebook page;
Even after you run into his mom and she tells you how much she misses you and how you'll always be a part of their family;
Even after you go a full day, or even a full week, without him crossing your mind even once;
Even after you give empowering, future-oriented advice to someone going through the same thing you went through;
Even after you have the courage to stop listening to Coldplay, because the significance of those melodies are a part of your past;
Even after you finally get a new pair of winter boots;
Even after you stop thinking of hypothetical run-intos or catch-ups;
Even after you let yourself let go of any anger or vengeance;
Even after you decide your life if not Eat, Pray, Love;
Even after that feeling of cold, hollow abandonment in your chest has dissipated;
Even after you genuinely wish him a happy, fulfilling life that excludes you,
You can never fully detach yourself from how absolutely important he was;
You can never walk by that Italian pasta place without thinking of the necklace he gave you there;
You can never smell McDonald's and not think of him hugging you after a double shift;
You can never see his sister and not see him in the way she smiles or rolls her eyes or giggles;
You can never see photo booths the same way;
You can never trust a person so openly and willingly as you did him;
You can never watch a yolk burst without breakfasts in bed together flooding in;
You can never forget that one day in the year that you were both so excited about (your anniversary);
You can never drink a glass of Disarono;
You can never escape the photographs;
You can never unsee all the smiles;
You can never unhear all the jokes;
You can never unfeel all the embraces;
You can never watch Spongebob with a poker face;
You can never ignore the scar on your hand from the time you fell off the fence trying to get to class on time together;
You can never experience the smell of his laundry detergent as a neutral smell;
You can never go to La Ronde without reminiscing about the ecstasy and confusion of a first love;
You can never come across an energetic boxer and not want to pet her;
You can never see war movies in the same way;
You can never hear the sounds of a soccer game without the image of him on his bicycle at night, in your driveway, watching you cry, undecided as to whether he should leave or stay;
You can never name your future child any of the names you used to talk about, even if you'd known of your favorite names since you were three years old;
You can never get into a black van without flashes of a music festival in July;
You can never forget about how he looked at you in utter, adorably dumb, shock the first time you kissed;
You can never go skiing without his silly nosebleed episode invading your outing for at least a moment;
You can never eloquently describe any well-rounded kind of positive phrase to summarize how "okay" you are (supposed to be) with this;
You can never see a v-neck neon shirt in an unbiased way;
You can never rewrite that part of your life that you wish had so much more in it than just him;
You can never be free from how badly going to your old high school reminds you of him in every way;
You can never gloss over the phrase "Oh, we're not seeing each other anymore" to relatives whom you don't see often enough to keep up to date on your personal tragedies;
You can never hear his name without the slightest flip in your belly;
You can never fully remove him from you.
I wake up next to my boyfriend with nothing but happiness, tenderness, passion and satisfaction. But for some reason, every now and then, my fingers find my phone, and itch to send you a message. I don't know why; I really don't have a thing to say. Seven years knowing you has shown me, plainly, that you are a selfish, manipulative, self-pitying, opportunistic, aggressive, impulsive, sociopathic idiot. But you were my selfish, manipulative, self-pitying, opportunistic, aggressive, impulsive, sociopathic idiot.
When you felt intimidated by me, you insulted me to feel better about yourself. When you did something wrong, you blamed me, or your mother, or your father, and made the whole conversation about how cruel life was to you. When I confronted you about sketchy conversations with other girls I found in your phone when you asked me to go find something in it for you, you accused me of not trusting you. When I spoke to other males, you became very jealous and made me feel like a bad girlfriend so that I would retreat closer to you, even if that mean isolating myself from my friends. When you played too roughly, I was the weak one. When I said no to filming a sex tape, I was boring. When I said yes to filming a sex tape, I was bitchy for not wanting you to sell it online. When
I expressed my discomfort about your increasing partying with other girls, I was being paranoid. When you cheated on me, it was because I wasn't making enough effort to see you. When you lied about it, it was to protect me. When I decided to try again, you were going to do it right this time. When you violated my body, I blamed myself.
I hated you. But I really, really loved you.
You changed, though. You're really not the person you were. You're scary to me now, because you're like the person I am afraid of within myself. Never mind what time does to perception, or the number of people that have come and gone in our lives since we closed that chapter together. You may as well be a brand-new person to me. I realize my opinion on you is not welcome or even relevant, but sometimes, when I think of you at all, it's like you're really, really gone. Other times, I have said goodbye, but I knew the person was still there somewhere, even if they changed somewhat over time, as people tend to do. I know I have. But you... you must have gone through some kind of evolution, some colossal mutation. Because, should you speak to me, your words don't match the voice I used to hear. Your attitude does not match those dimples I used to poke. Your gross, inappropriate, ridiculous sexual advances do not match the enchanting, tender person who must have respected me at one time. I don't know, maybe you never did and I was too in love to see that.
Either way, for me, this whole experience was like a death. I went through all the coping stages. You, as you were, do not exist at all anymore. You have vanished completely, and some other person who means nothing to me has taken over your body. In a sense, this whole experience was shared with someone who no longer exists.
So when I get a message from you, and it's met with a mixture of revulsion and magnetism, forgive me, but it is not my fault. For what is a girl to do with all these memories, all these feelings, and no real person to connect them to?
