Surviving Heartbreak

The First Man I Ran After

I never knew my father,
not really.
There was a man in our house,
but not in my life.
I don't know his favorite color,
or the song he'd hum when no one was listening.
He was a shadow that passed me by,
and I learned to chase the light
he never gave.

Because of him, my heart breaks
again and again.
I keep choosing men who leave,
who never intend to stay.
And I—
I throw myself at their retreating shadows,
because that's what he taught me:
you run after what you love.

He was the first man I ever ran after,
the first to show me
that love is something you chase,
something you plead for,
something you prove
by giving away pieces of yourself
that you'll never get back.

I needed him to stay,
to teach me that love doesn't vanish
when the door closes.
But he kept walking,
and I kept running,
believing if I just ran fast enough,
if I gave enough,
he might finally see me
as enough.

Now, I love like I was taught to:
with arms wide open,
with fear coiled in my chest,
ready to sprint when they turn their backs.
I give and give,
until I'm empty,
until I'm breathless
from chasing love
that never stays.

It's not their fault—
these men I choose.
They only mirror
the lesson he left behind.
How could they stay
when I've never known
what staying feels like?

And still,
if he ever turned around,
if he stopped in his tracks
and looked at me—
I'd run to him,
just like I always have.

Because my father
was the first man I ever ran after,
the shadow I could never reach,
the light I could never catch.
He taught me to love
the way I do—
recklessly, desperately,
without ever knowing
how to let go.

—MistakenGenius