I remember we were so happy. I remember when we were together, my heart was full. He would visit me and my face would light up. When we were together, all I wanted was to be next to him, soaking up every little bit of him before we had to say our goodbyes. I knew his eyes, his smile, his looks, his laugh. Little by little, day by day, month by month, things would change.
I grew clingy as he grew distant. It seemed as if suddenly his phone was most important, as if suddenly something else was more important. As I slipped lower and lower on his list of priorities, it killed me trying whatever I could think of to be close to him again. I felt empty being cast aside. The more time I made for him, the less time he had for me. What was I doing wrong?
The end was near and I knew it well. It was a push and pull of emotions. I grew frustrated from being pushed away so much. So I was mean. He was cold. We were different. He was a stranger.
Time went on. Then it was over.
I was a mess for months and months trying to make sense of what happened, where it went wrong, all with a hope in my heart that this wasn't the absolute end.
But it was.
Sometimes I still roll around in my thoughts, in the hurt of his leaving, in the scars of his lies. It's as if they'd been written on the walls of my heart: "God's calling me to be single"—"I don't love you like that anymore"—"It'll happen for you too." I clung to his words, I believed him because he was everything and the only thing.
BOTTOM LINE:
I'm still not over the hurt he left behind: the lying and stealing and feeling he was cheating. These hurts linger and go on unapologized for. I want to kill the fairy tale ending I wrote for our lives, that the first boy who walked into my life would be the same man waiting for me at the end of the aisle on our wedding day. I wanted to marry him and for some time, I believed he wanted to marry me too. That's over now. This isn't a Disney movie. I get it, okay? He left, and I'm not okay but I'm going to be. At least that's what I've been saying for years now...
I grew clingy as he grew distant. It seemed as if suddenly his phone was most important, as if suddenly something else was more important. As I slipped lower and lower on his list of priorities, it killed me trying whatever I could think of to be close to him again. I felt empty being cast aside. The more time I made for him, the less time he had for me. What was I doing wrong?
The end was near and I knew it well. It was a push and pull of emotions. I grew frustrated from being pushed away so much. So I was mean. He was cold. We were different. He was a stranger.
Time went on. Then it was over.
I was a mess for months and months trying to make sense of what happened, where it went wrong, all with a hope in my heart that this wasn't the absolute end.
But it was.
Sometimes I still roll around in my thoughts, in the hurt of his leaving, in the scars of his lies. It's as if they'd been written on the walls of my heart: "God's calling me to be single"—"I don't love you like that anymore"—"It'll happen for you too." I clung to his words, I believed him because he was everything and the only thing.
BOTTOM LINE:
I'm still not over the hurt he left behind: the lying and stealing and feeling he was cheating. These hurts linger and go on unapologized for. I want to kill the fairy tale ending I wrote for our lives, that the first boy who walked into my life would be the same man waiting for me at the end of the aisle on our wedding day. I wanted to marry him and for some time, I believed he wanted to marry me too. That's over now. This isn't a Disney movie. I get it, okay? He left, and I'm not okay but I'm going to be. At least that's what I've been saying for years now...
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