𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 → 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐢𝐢)

eight [t]

saturday,
april 6th, 2020

TRINITY HAYSON

I lay flat on my back on my bed, tears persistently cascading down my rosy cheeks. Shawn's voice plays from my phone speaker.

I'm listening to his album and EP for the first time. I've never heard his original music, besides that one song he wrote for me. Once we broke up, I decided I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking I listened to his songs. If he ever asked, I could've said I didn't know anything about his music. It proved to be impossible, hence my sudden urge to listen to them closely. Upon listening through the entire album, and the EP, I come to realise that there are far more songs about me. Not just one. My heart aches as I drown in his rasped voice. Lyrics rumble from deep in his chest and I feel myself starting to make the emotional connection. Of course these songs are about me. It's so fucking obvious.

There's a few songs about falling in love. Mainly, there's breakup and heartache songs. His lyrics are so beautiful that it tears a sob from my throat. My shoulders wrack as my face scrunches up and I swear I can feel my heart physically crack. My vision is blurry and fogged by salty tears.

I cry hideously, letting out all the emotions I've kept in for the past two years. Sure, I've cried over Shawn before, but that was when the heartbroken feeling was fresh and I was just beginning the healing process. As I bawl my eyes out, I come to the conclusion that there never was a healing process. I never healed, and I don't know how to.

I miss him.

I miss him so badly it physically and emotionally drains me. I feel selfish because although I have Asher, my mind won't deter from the familiar brown-curled man I used to call my own.

I've been having dreams about him since the interview. Most are very innocent. Us cuddling, laughing, having a great time in general. Others are not so innocent. I feel a certain hatred towards myself for allowing him to control my subconscious. Even if he doesn't know it. It's crazy, I'm crazy. I feel like I'm losing my mind without him.

He held my heart in his hands and tore it to shreds, letting it shatter like glass against tiles, yet I yearn to have him in my arms again. I want him to hold me and kiss me and tell me it's okay. That everything will work out and that I'll move on.

But that's what scares me. I don't think I will move on. Two years is a long time, and I know you're always supposed to love your first love, but surely that feeling of wanting them right beside you should fade away with time. When you find someone new and surround yourself with things and people to make you happy, that feeling is supposed to slowly but surely fizzle out. And it isn't. It's most definitely not fizzling out, no matter how hard I've tried to keep him out of my head.

My phone falls silent and I realise I've completed his discography for the second time. I hit repeat and the songs replay in chronological order yet again. I sit up on my bed, letting my feet gradually carry me towards my wardrobe. I kneel down and slide open the door, spying that familiar light grey Nike shoe box.

I wipe my tears, sniffling. I retrieve the box, leaning back against the side of my bed and setting it on my lap. I heave out an ugly cry as a particular lyric catches my ear.

"You're perfectly wrong for me, all the stars in the sky could see, why you're perfectly wrong for me..."

I silently sob, lifting off the weightless cardboard lid of the shoe box, revealing the almost overflowing amount of printed photographs. I take out a small handful, flipping through them and sucking my bottom lip under my top as I shake my head. A tear falls upon the picture I hold.

It's a photo from when Shawn and I visited my family in Ireland two years ago. We're cuddled on the couch of my living room. I'm sat between his spread legs and his chin is resting on my shoulder. I'm leaning back into his embrace as I laugh at something I can't remember. His hands are interlocked on my stomach and we both wear unbelievably massive smiles.

A year and a bit ago, I deleted all traces of him from my phone. Photos of us, his phone number, I unfollowed his socials. But before I made the rash decision to permanently rid my device of our pictures together, I printed them out and stashed them away. I wanted to remember my first love. I wanted to remember how happy we were. I still want to remember that.

I knew that someday I may need them, and maybe that day is today. Maybe an emotional outburst is part of moving on from Shawn. It could be just what I need.

A knock on my open bedroom door startles me. I look up and Hale leans against it, arms crossed and a pitiful look on her face. My apartment door was stupidly unlocked, she must've let herself in. I meet her gaze with a quivering lip and uncontrollably burst out into horrendous sobs again.

"Hey, hey," Hale coos, quickly making her way over to me, "it's okay, shhh."

She sits beside me and wraps an arm around me. I clutch her sweater and drop the pictures as I cry awfully loud. She squeezes me in a hug and sighs upon hearing Shawn's voice and examining the photos that now lay all over the carpet.

"You're not over him at all, are you?" Hale whispers, comfortingly resting her chin on my head.

I shake my head, feeling blinded by tears, "I miss him so much. A-and I shouldn't! He hurt me, Hale. So badly. Why do I still want him?"

Hale shrugs gently, "I don't know, T. I think you've been so consumed with the idea of moving on, that you forgot to actually do it. You were doing good until you saw him, and that's understandable, this is normal. But I think you were trying to convince yourself more than anybody that you were over him. When you are clearly not."

"I want to be over him," I say quietly, steadying my staggered breathing, "I wish I could tell him he means nothing to me. I want to see the look on his face when I tell him I don't love him anymore and I don't care about him. But fuck, Hale, I just couldn't. I couldn't do that to him."

She soothingly rubs my back, "You're way too fucking good for him. Even if you ever got back together, you'd still be too good for him. I hope you know that."

I chuckle sadly, "He was a great guy when he wasn't breaking my heart. And I don't want him back. People don't change all of a sudden."

Hale hums in thought but says nothing. We sit there, drinking in my exes wonderful voice and mindlessly staring at photos of us. I wish we were still happy together. I wish he never hurt me.

He destroyed my heart. He broke me.

And I don't think I can ever forgive him for that.