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Dreaming With a Broken Heart

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I looked at him, “I can’t make you stay, I can’t make you feel something that you don’t.” I felt stupid quoting song lyrics when he had no idea what they were, but they were the closest thing to describe how I felt, especially when I couldn’t put my feelings into my own words.
As I climbed out of the dark blue Jeep Grand Cherokee, I thought my life was over. My chest began to close up as the floodgates of my eyes opened, and I collapsed on my driveway. Dissolved in a fit of tears, I lay there for what felt like hours, the sting of hot concrete barely felt by my skin. Everything hurt, every bone, every joint, and every muscle. This is what I wanted, I reminded myself, I would be okay.
Almost three years had gone by, and while they weren’t wasted, (I had learned a lot in those years) I was angry, and a million questions went through my mind. What happened to the boy who got down on one knee and proposed to me? Said he was my rock, he would never leave? What changed to make him believe he no longer wanted me and everything I had to offer? Why had he let me spend endless amounts of money on him, in a selfish attempt to make him love me again? And most of all, how could I have done this to myself? Where was my dignity? My sanity?
As I picked myself up off the concrete and headed inside as the sun began to sink below the horizon and before my mom could worry, it hit me.
People don’t change, but feelings do. I had spent almost a year and a half convincing myself of someone’s love that was nonexistent, making myself crazy with what I knew was true but never wanted to admit. It didn’t mean that our relationship wasn’t real and our experiences together never happened, it didn’t mean that my feelings, my anger, wasn’t valid. This is what first loves are all about, learning, growing and ultimately finding out exactly who you are.





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