Broken

               “Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and it is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.” 

                There was a time when these very words held meaning to me; two times actually. The first was the first time I had ever fallen in love. Or, maybe I thought I was in love. I was new to the feeling; an adolescent caught up in the moment. My feelings were strong, however. Why else would I have been so utterly heart broken and shattered when everything we had crashed and burned? And right when I was beginning to lose faith in the concept of love, he was there to pick up the pieces and sew my heart back together.  Never before had I fallen so hard and felt the way I did the second time. It was a feeling unlike any other. My chest swelled every time we were together. Every kiss sent my heart racing, even the slightest peck on the cheek. I’m not sure if he ever knew the effect he had on me. He was in complete control of me, and there was nothing I could do about it. He stole my heart, and he has yet to give it back. I was completely powerless in his presence. I used to be the kind of girl who loved being the leader; never following, but always leading. I was a free spirit who didn’t have a care in the world. Everything in my eyes was beautiful.  

                But now I know better. You can’t always be the leader. There will always be someone you must follow. But what happens when they just leave you? Every sense of security and dependence you had just disappears and leaves you with absolutely nothing. You’re alone and weak. And no one can help you besides the one who left. And I don’t believe he’s ever coming back. This kind of heart break is indescribable. There’s a hole in my chest that makes me cold. My eyes blacken and show what used to be and what could have been. And that’s when I have to realize that I was never meant to have love. Love was cruel. It came and went for me. Not once, but twice. Now, I know that I was never meant to feel whole. I am a miserable human being with no sense of danger or direction, or any feeling for that matter. He was gone and he took a part of me with him.

                Sometimes, telling a story can help you remember the good things in life; the fun times you had and the things you can make a mental note to change. Sometimes, telling a story can help you escape the present and remember the moments that you lived for. So I will tell you my story. I will tell you my story starting from the ending of my normal life and the beginning of the rest of my life; the life I now wish had stayed normal.

                This is not your ordinary tale. It’s even hard for me to actually comprehend that this had happened to me. I never would have guessed in a million years that I would be telling such a story. But here I am. Here I am, sitting in my living room, writing down the bizarre events that led me up to this point; this point of bitter feelings and unhappiness. If you are not one for tears and unhappy endings, stop reading this now and go back to reading your perfect little fairytale story where everyone lives happily ever after. Happily ever after’s don’t exist.

                I would know.