To The Guy Who Broke My Heart on V-Day

     As I sat across from you that night, looking at you like it was the last time I'd see you, I tried so hard to catch your eye. You kept your head low and I understood why. Like me, you feared that the moment our eyes meet, we'd both cry hysterically for the entire restaurant swarming with googly-eyed couples to see. And when you finally looked at me for a split second, I swear every moment we shared before that night flashed before my eyes:

     Almost a year ago, I said yes and you couldn't believe it. Everything felt right and we couldn't say anything to ruin the moment. We couldn't say anything, period. With you, silences felt like cushions -- warm and soft and familiar. They didn't feel awkward or forced, and I never found the need to fill them with words just for the heck of it.

     Eight months ago, I failed my first exam. You knew it was a big deal because I wanted to get good grades for college. You knew I took failures badly and that I'd spend the next few days sulking and blaming myself. You didn't know what to say and that was alright because you stood by me anyway -- waiting for me to talk, holding my hand while I sobbed, just waiting for me to be okay again.

     Six months ago, you hurt your ankle during basketball practice and I didn't know what to do. I gathered the courage to call your parents and to talk to them for the very first time. You woke up hours later in a hospital room that stack of meds and anxiety. I hated every bit of that place, but I knew you needed me so I stayed and held your hand until your parents arrived, until I knew you were going to be alright.

     Three months ago, everything started to go downhill and I failed to notice. You barely called and when you did, you were just exhausted. You said it was because of varsity practice, a Physics problem you couldn't solve, or a History paper you hadn't finished yet. I didn't want to be the nagging girlfriend, so I brushed my doubts aside.

     A month ago, I excitedly asked how we'd spend our first Valentine's Day together. It was a big deal for me -- a milestone actually. It was the first time I wouldn't be setting up camp in front of the TV, watching Adventure Time to humor myself and ignore the loneliness I felt from knowing that 70 percent of the human population was out on a date, making out with some random guy just because it's Valentine's Day. Okay, that was way bitter, but you know what I meant. For the first time, I'd be on the other side of the fence, spending the day with someone so dear to me -- you.

     Now all I can do is look at you, my eyes begging for clarity and a plot twist. But that was the plot twist: In the middle of a restaurant buzzing with love and energy and affection, we broke up. No, you broke us up. I always hated clichés, so the universe gave me irony -- a breakup on the happiest and most romantic of days.

     A day after, I woke up with a throbbing headache. I called you to check if you got home safely after dropping me off, and asked if you were serious and begged you to give us another try -- what a cliché. I cried myself to sleep because I though that would make me feel better, yet another cliché. I hated being a cliché.

     One month later, my chest still tightens at the thought of you and those times we made ours. Where did we go wrong? What signs did we miss? If we didn't miss them, could we have saved us?

     Six months later, things started getting better. It still hurt to stare at my phone and know that your name won't be flashing on the screen. It still hurt how your every word and every promise evaporated into thin air. But I couldn't hold them against you because I knew you meant them -- you just couldn't follow through. I held on to the believe that things will get better if you just let them. It's the nature of things to seek order after disorder, the way our hearts do after they've been crushed and broken.

     A year after that memorable Valentine's Day, I have a table for two all to myself, and feeling suffocated by the bouquets and the couples around me. But I've made peace with everything that happened between us -- and everything that didn't. Ours was a wonderful story. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now that I think about it, it was scary too. I became so preoccupied with making our relationship work that I began ignoring my responsibilities at home, in school, and to myself. I was too caught up with making you happy that I forgot to chase my own dreams. Instead, I built new ones that always involved you. Those were wonderful dreams, but we're too young to build our lives around each other. The lines between the two of us had become so blurry that sometimes I thought there'd be no me if there were no you.

     As I sit at this table for two all by myself, loneliness slowly washing over every cell in my body, all our moments flash before me again. But they aren't as clear as they were before -- a sign that someday, this heartbreak will become a blur too, fading slowly but surely and making space for what's to come. While a little part of me would give anything to have someone take the empty seat across me, a bigger part would give everything to completely be myself again.

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