To the boy who broke my heart (raw)

 To the boy who broke my heart  - There’s two sides to a story. And this one is mine.

 

I deserved a better goodbye.

The day I woke up at 3am to cross the big pond yet again, to catch that smile of yours with my own eyes, I remember you checking in with me to see if I was actually awake. I remember how you would stay up with me, way past your bedtime, to keep me company through my anxiety, trying to contain your own excitement just so you could talk some sense into me.
I remember that last phone call. I remember how you laughed, how you just sat there and listened, knowing there was no use in trying to use logic for the mess of emotions I was in. I remember that mix of butterflies and stones in my stomach, the kind of knot that made me feel like I was close to throwing up but wouldn’t fade.

I remember the love we felt. The silent adorement neither of us were really prepared for when this started, the sparks flashing in those dark eyes of yours and especially the smile that had never really left the corners of your mouth ever since I’d picked up the call. I remember shaking, being so exhausted and terrified, with nothing but a seemingly magical pull driving me to keep going and keep going and keep going, run through the airport, my heart beating so loud, I thought surely the people next to me must notice it and ask if I’m alright. (They didn’t)
A smile across my face that had never really left the corners of my mouth either, I could barely pull my muscles together, god it must have looked so plain stupid so cheesy so Hollywood for anyone catching a glimpse of the mess I had now gotten myself into. I fell for you so deeply, I never even learned how far it could go. Everything about you was home.

[Even in all of those weeks after we stopped talking, I could feel the squeeze of your hands on my shoulders, laughing that little laugh of yours, mischief in your eyes and sweet sweet honey in your voice]

I remember trembling all the way through customs, how my lungs felt so cold and empty from forgetting to breathe, walking faster and faster, picking up the pace the closer I got to that big steel door. (I think I might have been the first one through) I remember not remembering anything, the second my eyes met yours, out in the hall. I remember the way you looked (khaki cargo pants, as usual, blue flannel jacket, that weird half-length toque some people wear, and your rustic, well-used boots), your lips curling up into the kind of smile where you have to try your absolute hardest to not completely lose it, disbelief and happiness pouring into each other as we finally got to close the distance after too much time spent in desperation and loneliness. I remember my heart beating so loud, I thought surely you must notice it and ask if I’m alright.

The way you buried your head in mine, so scared your mind would be playing tricks on you, three little kisses planted on my hair, your way of letting me know „I can’t believe you’re here“.
The hurried rush over to your car, a rush of excitement, me getting to live out my teenage dreams again, small town girl, big town truck, a man who’s made me lose myself in the best possible way.
A hand on my thigh, a grip that said „I’m not letting you go.“ the butterflies in my stomach fueling a fire, keeping me warm in the middle of a blizzard. I never want to leave again. I’m stumbling over my words, I‘m a mess all over again, it’s like meeting you once more in a strange life, a strange town, never having had a single conversation, seemingly having all three months of daily phone calls thrown out of my head, all the worries all the troubles disappearing with you sitting in the drivers seat again and me just getting to look at you. I can’t believe I got this guy. I can’t believe this is my life right now. I can’t believe I got so lucky.

[Just let me look at you forever]

I entered these lands like a whirlwind, running on low sleep, low caffeine and a heart so full, alive and beating, it felt as though my blood was almost overflowing. Coming into your house again, most things the way they were.
But we weren’t.

[Maybe we should have given ourselves more time]

„You’re right. This doesn’t feel real.“

[Maybe that should have been a warning, but it felt like love]

Maybe exhaustion got the both of us. Maybe we should have just relaxed instead of going out. Maybe we should have just said nothing and just looked at each other until our touch didn’t feel like strangers aynmore. Maybe we talked too much. Maybe we talked too little. Maybe we expected too much of us. Maybe we should have known better. Maybe all of these maybes mean nothing in the end.

All I remember is the cold crawling in through the cracks. I remember a change in the wind, a change in your tone, a topic we had already fought about months prior. It did not end well back then, but we reconnected. You reconnected.
I remember my bones getting colder, I remember me asking you to stop, my mind begging for you to please don’t go there, knowing how it ended in the past, knowing damn well it’s not worth it. You kept going. I just closed my eyes and breathed.
I remember trying to stay calm (again). I remember trying to let you go on your rant (again) but feeling sick to my stomach, wondering how the hell this could happen (again). Trying to get us back on common ground, but must have missed the mark. This lake had already started freezing over. And all I could do, was watch in disbelief. And grief, as our bond started to crumble in my hands, right there in that parking lot, both of us unable to stop the avalanche that just kicked off.

The air had changed now. Both of us hurt, bitten, like an animal retreating to clean its wounds.
We stopped talking.
Every try at conversation pouring poison into our veins, fighting back to regain the upper hand. I could feel you slipping away from me, cutting ties, digging this trench. I watched the crease between your eyes grow deeper, your smile fade, your face turn numb. I could see you crying, too. Your tears turned inwards, red with blood from a heart freshly wounded, the desperation in your voice trying to reach out, but ultimately shying from the touch, the eyebags, the heavy sighs, the bowed head, the hand in your hair, avoiding my gaze wherever you could. The hesitation in opening your mouth, not knowing where to go from here. Don’t worry, I felt it too.

[Or maybe that’s what I wish I saw]

The silence ultimately making us pay the price. Ultimately unspokenly accepting the fate of ours being broken apart, ripped from our hands so suddenly, so unexpectedly, it took most of me with it.

[My body has been numb for months]

How did we end up in such a mess? When you spoke your first words („You always bark so fucking loud!“) a thin sheet of ice started wrapping around my heart. I could feel it grow colder, could feel the light fading, could see colors turning into grey. I don’t remember feeling anything.
I don’t even remember praying. I don’t remember breathing. But I remember trying to ignore the rush of blood in my head, the steady sound of ringing in my ears getting louder and louder, I need to stay focused, I need to listen, I need to save this!
And I listened. I listened to you going off, pouring out all of your frustration with me and people like me (women), I listened to the same projections I made, listened to supposed expectations, listened to the things I should have known better and should have done better and knew: You’re right.
Every word, every sound escaping your mouth, every hiss, every sigh, every quiet, heartbroken „I don’t know“ sank into me like poison. And I listened. And you’re right. But there was no way of proving I could do better. There was not enough time. I knew that. You knew that. I said it. You nodded. The last time you held my hand was across the dinner table, as the tears finally swole up and I made it clear I understood. You said, this was your worst nightmare. You said, you don’t want to be the reason I’d be cutting my trip short. You said, you still wanted us to have a good time.
You also said, we had broken up. Funny, when for the past weeks you couldn’t even decide whether we were actually dating, despite us talking on the phone for up to 4 hours every day, even when you would call me at random times, not having anything to say, you just wanted to see me and hear me talk about my day, quietly on the phone with you working on your car and me folding laundry. Fuck, the way my heart started bubbling every time your name flashed on my screen was nothing like I ever experienced before.

I grew soft for you. You called me too domestic. I toughened up for you. You said I was being rude. I said men are trash. You said I was a feminist nazi. I wanted to be with you. You wouldn’t let me.
I considered moving. You wanted to provide for me. I said I don’t want nor need you to provide for me. You called yourself my only friend in this vast country and refused to believe that wasn’t true. I said I was just fine doing this by myself.
You said you knew all of your thinking was self-inflicted and you wish it could change, but failed to see another way at this point in time, wanting to offer me perspective but not having any for yourself, so you asked me to stay put because it was putting too much pressure on you. So I did.
You reminisced about past relationships. I called you emotionally unavailable. It became a joke we used often. „Am I the emotionally distant fish?“ when sending you a funny meme. The „What? No! Lame! I don’t have feelings!“ barely a month into it. The just-a-bit-too-long hugs before separating for however long. The secret touches exchanged when no one was watching, knee on knee underneath the table, a quick squeeze of my hand before letting go, the „I miss you“s every other day, you starting to count the days long before I did, you worrying about planning a trip exciting enough for me and refusing to let me be happy with just being around you. You, willingly agreeing to a hike, dreaming big, planning out your life with a job 21 on 7 off („I could fly out to see you on those 7 off!!“), stressing about meeting my parents, desperately wanting to leave a grand impression and oh, believe me, you did. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mum so genuinely warmed up to someone. You even got your own nickname and you loved it. You said you liked how unique it was and how it meant something.

What I remember most about you? Your voice. The distinct rumble of the way you speak, the way my name was always carried so heavily with passion, with force, with love and sympathy in your mouth, I think I could recognize it from miles away. I still feel the shadow of your hands hold onto my shoulders whenever I start to freak out. You were my rock in stormy seas, my anchor to keep me steady, the rope to pull me back to shore. You were a guide, a savior, a friend, a teacher, a partner in crime and an idealistic example of what a dream relationship could look like. You cheered me on to take that last bite of a heavy dinner, telling everyone about how I could outdo you when it came to food, but never losing a bad word over it. I have your coffee order carved into my deepest memories (Two creams, two sugars), I know you go out to get ice cream every night, sometimes twice a day when things are bad, I know how making a grilled cheese sandwich is considered your biggest skill in the kitchen, I know that change in focus when your car even so much as takes a split-second longer to start up than usual and how you’re not gonna be able to pay attention to anything else when that happens.

I wish I could know for certain what wicked parasite had crawled into your ear, causing you to pour out all of that pent up frustration so all at once, out of the blue, but I know this time I’m not gonna get any explanation, no closure, no peace, no second chance, no nothing. There’s a thousand things I know about you, hundreds of those little habits of yours I still replay in my mind every time I come across the triggers that caused them, a shadow of yours still being part of my day 24/7, even with 4 months down the line. Your laugh, your lips pressed together, or wide open, creases around your mouth from being in a weirdly good mood, the heavy sigh and closing eyes, letting your head fall to your chest whenever you had to accept your fate, the exaggerated playing with your fingertips when trying to make a point, the sudden silence when diving into your phone screen because you can’t just be in the wrong without double and triple and quadruple checking sources, the alarm clock of your physical body knocking your lights out every night at 9:30 on the dot, waking up around 8, sometimes 9, immediately getting up after one alarm on days you have something planned, jolting out of bed because you were barely able to rest, the machine of your brain continuously turning, whirring, calculating, even with the pills only ever so slightly calming you down. I know about the impulse buys. I know the immediate discomfort when the odometer turns over to 5000+ kilometers since your last oil change. I make my bed every day, hearing your voice calling me out „She is a child!!“ in front of your mum, complaining I wouldn’t even make my bed in the morning. I remember you twitching in your sleep, to the point where you would kick off the blanket and cramped your hands so tight I worried you were having a seizure. I remember how, no matter how late it was or how asleep you were, your hand always managed to somehow find something about me to hold on to, even if it was just the seam of my pants, luring you back to peace and sleep. I remember your beady eyes and how I got lost in them every single day, allowing myself to drown in this feeling.
Loving you was like staring at the sea. (I say „was“ because I’m not allowed to anymore). You would know damn well there was more than meets the eye, but you never knew just how deep it truly went until you fell into it.

You wouldn’t let me walk on the sidewalk without making sure it was you closest to the road. You wouldn’t let me cross the street without grabbing me first and pointing out the coming traffic.

[Sir, I have two fully functional eyes and very little fucks to give, please let me make my own decisions]

You never believed a single thing I said, until a third party was able to confirm it, but I think most men have that problem. You dragged me to coffee shops, looking for that perfect cappucino, showed me every hardware store there possibly is, just to point out the things you liked. It felt like watching a crow spot shiny trinkets sometimes but boy, did I have the time of my life just getting to watch you be you. You. That has always been enough, but I worry you never really let yourself believe it.

[„I don’t understand why you’re crying over me, I’m not that cool…“]

We developed our own language, our own little jokes, our own little world, maybe even a bubble we were too busy living in we forgot to maintain it? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know. I begged you to talk to me again twice now, to consider salvaging our friendship at the very least. I’ve gotten no response.

I remember, though. You’re fading, but you’re still with me. I remember the scar on the side of your ribs I force myself to keep in mind, because I used to keep forgetting it. Your eyes and how fixed they’d been on me but I was too excited myself to even notice. Now I see it on pictures, so clearly, I see it on videos and it’s tearing me to shreds. I was looked at in a way Hollywood would have been jealous of, and then just… lost it.
How could I have been so stupid?
I remember every sound you made, every wrinkle in your face, the bushy eyebrows you’d let me pluck, our definition of true intimacy, the silent grab of my hand communicating everything you wouldn’t say, the panicked gasp when I finally blurted out those unholy three words, your hasty grab of my face that was trying to hide away and the way you made sure my eyes were aligned with yours when admitting to it, too. And I swear, I swear on my life, it felt like a promise.

 

I deserved a better goodbye, Canada man. It’s the only thing I’ll hold you accountable for. It’s the only „Why“ I really want to have an answer to. I’m not mad about the things you said, I know they were true because they had already been criticized about me before. So I’m working on becoming better. I’m working on just keeping my mouth shut. I’m working on actively noticing that I’m not the main character, and that sometimes, people just want to talk for the sake of talking. I became a lot quieter in the time you’ve left me with. I stopped talking, realizing I didn’t have anything to say, I was just waiting for my turn to talk.
You’re in my head every day and I think it has reached a point, in which I’ve just gotten used to it.
I started flinching again when people touch me. I step back when someone else steps forward. They wanted to put me on anti-depressants, because I haven’t been able to articulate any emotions, any feelings, any sentiment since things ended, but I still smile a cold smile because what else is there to do?
Even my therapist was so shocked, asked me where I had left myself, told me to take all of this pain and store it, safely, until I was stable enough to open and deal with it.

You said I couldn’t just be so mistrusting of people all the time, especially men or how not every guy wants to fuck me. Just a heads up, that stuck with me and I promise, I promise I’m trying hard every day to live up to these standards you set, but it’s so terrifying and I’m scared.

You are a blueprint for future relations. You are the subtle, innocent ideal in the back of my mind someone else has to live up to, if they want to have a chance at getting close to me. You still have all of my heart, even if you don’t want anything to do with it. That’s okay, I keep that to myself anyways. I still have hope, but it’s more like a dull pin in a dark corner somewhere inside my heart.
I’m not obsessed, I’m heartbroken. Was it too intense? Were you just scared? I don’t know. But I do know, that you mean it. The distance, the silence, the dropping me out of your life, entirely.
While I don’t understand, I did accept it the second I could feel your discomfort in that last goodbye hug by the airport. I’m no longer part of your life and that’s okay. I believe this is what people mean, when saying „If you love someone, let them go.“ because I only want to know that you’re okay, you’re fine, you’re doing good. I pray you’re not suffering as much as I am, I pray that this was the right decision for you, I pray it was worth it in the end. I’d go through it again, if it meant you found your happiness.

Please, take my words, I’ve already written them out for you so many times: Be better. Be at peace. You deserve to be happy.

I always kinda knew you would get there without me.