I'm not sure if I've heard that from Sex&the City, some place else, or I was clever enough to come up with it myself. Either way, this phrase rings very true to me right now. I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that things could be so different between my ex and me.
Remember your first big heart break? This person was your world, and you thought that you would completely crumble without them. But like all things, it came to an end. And you did crumble without him. But by the grace of God, you peeled yourself off your bedroom floor, stopped playing all of "our songs", took a shower, and opened the door to face the world. And odds are, if you saw that person again, you would try to act strong. You would clench your jaw into a smile, tilt your chin up and show them, "Yeah, you made me hit my lowest low, and now look at me. You can't touch me." But on the inside, you know this isn't true. But as long as you are the only one who knows that, it's okay. You can attempt to be friends with that person, but most likely, you're left wanting all or nothing.
I know that I have been in this exact situation. And I know others who have, too. And what did we all do? We chose to never talk to that first big heart ache ever again. Maybe it's the memory. Maybe it's because we see what an asshole they were to do that to us. Maybe it's because we know that it's just too hard to bear. But at the end of the day, the two of you aren't friends. And you move on.
Now imagine that you're the heart breaker. You're the asshole. You were key in the crumbling of a person's life. You're their sad, unbearable memory. Sometimes, it can be just as hard to be on the other side of the story. It's like that children's story about the Big Bad Wolf. All our lives, we focused on the three little victims, and just took the villain as the villain.
It can hurt just as bad to be the asshole. A different kind of hurt but it stings just as much because it's the worst kind of pain: self inflicted. We pushed that person away. We decided not to be with them anymore. We didn't love them the way they needed to be loved. We did this to ourselves. I did this to myself.
I broke his heart. Twice. He trusted me enough to let me in a second time and I swore to myself, I swore to myself that it would be different. I would look into my future and see him in it. I could find it in me to love him. But I couldn't, and I didn't. Not in the ways he wanted to be in my life. And not the way he wanted me to love him.
I did love him. I still do. We had a relationship, for christ's sake. He was one of my best friends. I trusted him with my life. But I didn't love him like that. I wasn't in love with him. I didn't even know there was a difference between love and being in love until one day I just felt it.
Or maybe I didn't feel it. It was nothing he did. He kept asking that, in so many words. "What happened?" aka "What'd I do?" And I would tell him, no, no. It was nothing you did. You were perfect. You listened, cared, loved. You were perfect. And looking at us, we were perfect. Everyone loved us together. I loved the picture of us together.
And I miss him. I. Fucking. Miss. Him. I want my friend back. Not my boyfriend back. My friend. But since I don't want him as my boyfriend, he can't be my friend.
It's been almost two months. For many of the relationships we have past our first big love, two months would be enough time to get over a break up. You could work on a friendship. But I was his first big love. So at two months, he's just getting to the point where he doesn't feel compelled to ask himself, "What happened? What'd I do?" He's moved onto, "That fucking bitch. Fuck her for doing this to me."
And he should feel that way. I did break his heart again after laying with my head on his chest promising I never would ever again. It wasn't a lie. At that point I truly did believe I never would. But as you can see...
"Help. I have done it again. I have been here many times before. Hurt myself today. And the worst part is there's no one else to blame."
If I could have my cake and eat it too, we would be friends. You would text me something stupid that happened during the day. I would come and see your new place in Philly and maybe bring you a bamboo plant as a house warming gift. Something weird that only you would appreciate. We could joke about the past. We would schedule coffee to catch up with each other and talk about our lives. And even though we wouldn't play the same role as we did before, we would still play a part in each other's life. We would end our phone calls with smiles and laughs. Fuck... We would actually talk.
That's my slice of cake. With a cherry on top, please.
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