I think people are broken in the most beautiful ways. They are cracked and shattered and scarred from life and love and loss. I see that now, I see myself as broken, beautiful, damaged, but also a lightness, as laughter and happiness.
You say, “I don’t want to be that girl, a lot.”
"That’s because there are so many different "that girl’s" and I don’t want to be any of them."
Meeting this boy brings it all back. The charming boy from the party, the car, the dinner, the way he looked at me, the kisses, all my wrong steps, falling asleep in his arms, waking up to him, having my heart broken on the perfect night.
All I can see is the dark and the bright lights, him looking at me, intertwining his fingers with mine as he droves home. All I can remember is how I felt that moment, how I thought to myself, “This is happiness.”
And then the next morning, how I cried until my eyes were raw, and then fell asleep and slept all day.
Me- “Sorry what were you saying?”
Him- “Oh nothing, I was just gonna say at least you have your Dad.”
I smile. “Yeah, at least I have my Dad.”"
"I just don’t understand why I’m still so upset about it. Like I’m more upset about this than I was my eight month relationship."
"That’s because that was a horrible relationship. He was the first good thing you had, but that doesn’t mean he was a good person, or that he was good for you. He was just better than the last one, but then again anyone probably would be.Time, time will erase him, don’t worry."
"My biggest fear, I think that would being average. I don’t want the husband and the house in the suburbs and the 2.2 kids. I mean I do, kind of, I want some of that, but I don’t want just that, and I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up and that’s all I’ll have."
"I’m scared of being trapped at the bottom of the ocean."
I know this is a lot to want, but I just want some evidence that you regret let me go, that you miss me. That’s all.
"But you still miss him?"
You wouldn’t think it’s a rare thing to meet someone you can talk to for hours and maybe it’s not, maybe I’m just weird, but I went on a date today, the first one since you and he was so sweet and so cute and on the swim team and tall. I was wearing heels the night I met him and he was still taller, I was dressed the way I never could be with you. We danced and kissed all night. He cabbed and walked me home, like you did. And do you know who I woke up thinking about this morning? Who I dreamt about last night?
He was sweet and nice and he liked me and I, was walking around London struggling for conversation with this tall gorgeous boy in a purple varsity jacket missing those easy dinners and the way you’d look at me when you drove me home.
So here’s where I’m at: I wake up and it’s over, it’s still over, I remember that first time seeing you since and it’s raw, still painful. I think of waking up that morning and how much I hate high heels and how much I wish he was you instead and I can see it on his face that he knows.
So I’ll probably never see him again, and maybe I won’t see you either. But I’ll always be wondering how the hell you did this to me in less than a month, when I didn’t feel anything like this after eight. I’ll be wondering how everyone I meet falls in love with me a little bit, even after 10 minutes, and how, how you could ever have walked away from that, from this, from me.