You.
You were my shelter in the middle of my storm,
my shoulder to cry on when all felt forlorn.
I drew my strength from your love's warmth
But all that's past and alive no more.
You.
You’re a math expression with no solution,
an ingredient in the recipe of my confusion.
To my desperate pleas, you answered vaguely;
I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing lately,
after our love, after our loss.
after experiences we never thought would become fleeting memories
of a bond we hoped would last for centuries,
after long, late nights up spent envisioning a future with you and me,
of writing a book's last chapter that would end happily.
after broken promises that broke both our hearts.
Although words may break my heart
and sticks and stones may break my bones,
betrayal by someone who felt like home
makes me question myself and crushes my soul.
I thought I was your best friend, your dream girl, your ride-or-die,
but after you met her, that no longer mattered and you bade me goodbye,
while gravity gained on the tears that began to stream from my eyes,
nearly a year and a half of love cut short by the devil in disguise.
They say grief is a linear five-stage process,
which involves denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance,
but grief over him for me was a convoluted, confusing hodgepodge that muddled up all those feelings together.
Grief was denial over him loving me and leaving me all at once.
Grief was rage triggered by this sudden betrayal and loss of trust, by making out his love to be a lie,
by all my effort put into loving him unconditionally going down the drain in the blink of an eye.
Grief was wrestling between giving him liberty to fool around
and bargaining to salvage and kindle the embers of the fire
that once burned between us that could be redeemed.
Grief was depression over being taking for granted, depression over promises never kept,
depression over words that I fell for that broke my heart in the end.
Grief was struggling to accept the aftermath of it all, no matter how huge a hole it left in my heart.
Grief was accepting his departure one second, then reminiscing about the love we used to share and bargaining for it back.
Grief was struggling to be happy again, then remembering how he broke my heart and feeling either vexed or sad or both emotions at once.
Grief was loving him in the wake of my loss.
But grief wasn’t going to sting as much as it would if I had attached my self-worth onto the relationship. I already knew what love was before I met him.
I've found love in being saved by the blood of my Savior,
I've found love in friends and family who’ve seen me at my worst and chose to stay,
I've found love in education and learning more about the world around me outside of the classroom,
I've found love in my craft,
I've found love in other people's craft,
I've found love in many places where he isn't.
I will be fine.
I’ve found that love is not selfish; love is giving.
Love meant putting the needs of others before its own.
If one can’t understand that,
then they weren’t ready to commit themselves to a serious relationship with anyone,
nor can they maintain healthy, cordial relationships with other people in their life.
I already knew what love was before I met him; I just don’t
understand why people have such a hard time reciprocating it.
I thought he was my red string of fate.
I guess my eyes simply weren’t adjusted correctly to the light.
-a.l.
(lit. I don't want to leave.)
inspired by my red string of fate, my first love.
it's hard when you're young
