To the woman in the elevator who told me my Bear was a "keeper",
I thought so too.
I wished to keep him forever and ever and I thought that just maybe he wanted to keep me.
But he didn't. He doesn't.
That was the last time I would ever see him.
Our last rendezvous was in that very elevator.
He whispered so tenderly into my ear that he loved me between kisses and I did the very same.
Nine days ago that was.
Today my number is blocked on his phone for begging him not to leave me.
I am afraid to tell my friends because they'll call me a ***** and a **** (jokingly, they swear) for having lost yet another love.
He was however my first love.
His predecessors had simply been mislabeled.
And that was why, at 9:56 last night when he told me he was breaking up with me after reassuring me that he loved me "dearly" when I questioned his distance just earlier that morning, I couldn't breathe.
He didn't ask me to say anything, maybe because he didn't care, maybe because he knew my ever present words had failed me.
Almost like he did.
I sobbed for five continuous hours.
I texted boys who called me "a crazy *****", who told me they hated me.
Yet he broke up with me because he feared I deserved more, when in fact I wanted nothing more than him.
And just minutes before I asked him to be my premature valentine, to which his response was crushing me, making my rounded edges turn concave.
And so, to the dear woman in the elevator, I am still going to believe he was a keeper until I am strong enough to let strings of curses fly.
Thank you for stoking my dreams into a full blazing fire from a low crackling burn.
I hope that soon I will find myself able to extinguish the raging fluttering embers completely.
Sincerely,
His "manic pixie dream girl"