subject line: when you're the one who breaks a heart.


dallas, texas 

It is 10:55 p.m.

I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, halfway listening to the Gilmore Girls episode playing from my ipad, and staring into a leftover bowl of quinoa and mushrooms. I am wearing the baggiest pj pants I own and my brother’s T-shirt. My hair is wet from my shower.

My contacts are foggy from the amount of salt that has passed through them in the last four hours, and I have a red, sore patch on my cheekbone from wiping my eyes with toilet paper instead of Kleenex.

I am thinking about how breaking a heart is harder than having your heart broken. People who are broken up with never have to worry that they are making any kind of wrong decision.

I am thinking about the episode of Friends where Ross and Rachel are having their fight about Ross hooking up with that girl when they WERE ON A BREAK! and Ross drops to his knees and grabs Rachel’s hands and holds them to his face and says “These hands? What am I going to do without these hands?”

I am wondering: What is love? What is it supposed to feel like?

I am thinking that I want to drop-kick everyone who has ever said “When You Know, You Know.”

I am slowly wrapping my mind around the fact that I’m losing my #1 fan, biggest encourager, and a pair of strong arms that would have never let me go. And that it was ultimately my decision.

I am remembering the way he kept his Jeep in park tonight after he took my to my car. And he didn’t pull away at all until after I had already turned, out of his view. And my heart burst into a million pieces. I don’t want to know how long he sat there.

I am wondering how anyone does this, breaking up.

I am wondering when I got so dependent on someone else, and so scared to go through life alone. I’ve never been that girl.

I am thinking that if I could force myself to love him in all the ways he loves me, I would in a heartbeat.