Two Broken Hearts

(Ryan's P.O.V.)

Ever since the break up between Lillian and I, I just have been haunted. Not only by my own personal demons whom she used to help me fight off just by being in my arms, but by the memory of me leaving her stranded in Lincoln Street. Heartbroken, terrified, broken. Every morning I wake up, I have the same normal nightmare:

She tugs the sleeves of my long sleeve t-shirt to where the thumb hole placed in both sleeves has her thumb in it and covers her knuckles. Tight black skinny jeans cover her lower half as a black beanie of mine pushes back her red hair. My hand slowly lets go of hers. I study her moves. The way her hair moves slowly and her lips part as she says "Ry, I love you, what's wrong?" My arms try to keep away from her grasp. I push back my tousled brown hair as I mutter "No...you don't." Tears brim her eyes. She isn't the one who doesn't love the other, its me. I'm incapable of loving anyone. She backs up clearly hurt and says I do...I really do. I back up and stammer "Lil...no-no...you d-don't. Tears escape her eyes as I see her heart break harder. I'm the one who can't love her. I've never loved anyone. Except her. So why can't I say I can't love her? This is the girl I love. My lips part as I say "Lillian, we need to break up." She screams in pain at the words I spoke. Her small, fragile body collapses to the ground. This isn't any kind of pain I'm causing her, this is pure mental, spiritual. I'm breaking, literally breaking her. She can't. No I can't love her.  What am I feeling? Love? I need to figure that out, but for now I'm leaving her. For her sake. I walk away, leaving her in the street, breaking harder than any piece of glass.

To think, all of that happened because I simply couldn't fathom the mere idea of me being able to love anyone. Knowing I specifically love her, it's beyond unbearable. Best friends before us, started in 9th grade for us and ended her freshman year of college. I'm not one to love so quickly, so easily. That's the main reason I left her here on Lincoln Street breaking.

Remembering how I broke her makes me feel numb some days, while the others, my heart breaks and tears manage to escape my blue-gray-green eyes. Realizing my current state without her just hurts. I walk over to my closet. My eyes find my navy blue muscle t-shirt she used to steal from me and my dark blue skinny jeans. Her favorite outfit I'd only wear for her.

I guess I'm wearing it because I'm meeting my assigned songwriter and I want to remind myself that no matter who I may come across, whatever girl I meet, I'm hers and that's all I want. Her back. No matter how much I broke her, I love her. I do.