I remember feeling paralyzed. I felt like I’d break if I moved. So I sat in bed day after day, waiting for the pain to stop. I couldn’t think or speak because I feared that if I did, he would come to mind. Now here I am, months later, writing about him as I often do. The story of he and I is hard to tell and not particularly riveting, yet it’s what I write about most passionately. It’s what I’ve written about for months now; it’s what I’ve come to know quite well.
He was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. I’m truly sincere in that aspect, that he was indubitably unlike anything or anyone. His quiet and reserved mind blossomed with beautiful ideas and thoughts. He had a contagious smile and beautiful light freckles scattered delicately across his face. He also had a tendency to care deeply, maybe too deeply considering his frequent emotional despondency. However, through the sadness he felt, he still cared and tended to my needs. At least for a little while, and I did the same for him. I began to slip into a terrible state of mind, but my worry for him grew stronger than the worry for myself. I put all of what I felt aside to help him through the mess he seemed to be tangled up in. However, as hard as I tried to be a positive influence in his life, he deteriorated and my demise soon followed. Our personal downfalls are what resulted in our relationships debacle.
This brings me to that paralyzed feeling I grew to know a little too well. He’d left me. I began to fear everything and isolated myself for weeks. I refused to let myself think because if I did I’d remember that he wasn’t with me. I’d remember that he’d never be with me again. I’d think about how I’d never have the opportunity to look into his eyes again. I swear I could see the waves of the ocean crashing in his blue eyes. I’d never see that freckle that’s placed just below his right eye. I couldn’t let myself think of these small details. It would have hurt too much. I could barely listen to music; every song I heard reminded me of him. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of him. It was a constant heart wrenching pain that I could not escape. I felt worthless and pathetic; I had never felt so alone. I lost more than just a silly high school boyfriend; I lost my muse, my happiness, and about six months of my life.
  This is not a sob story I’m trying to tell and I promise you, it does get better. After a long while, I began to realize that life can go on without him. Maybe he is my true love, maybe he isn’t. Regardless of his true meaning to me, I was not born to be his or for him to be mine. I was born to be myself and to succeed and strive as my own person. I could no longer let him dictate my life. And that brings us to present time. I still love him. From his messy side swept hair to his goofy posture. But I’m no longer letting myself fall into a depressing abyss night after night thinking about what I’m missing. Instead, I think about myself. I think about how I can better myself as a person and how I can make myself happy. So that’s my story. It hasn’t been the easiest ride loving him, but through the heartbreak I have learned what it means to love myself. I no longer feel paralyzed. I feel free.