You came crashing into my life when I didn’t expect it and swept me right off my feet, quite literally. And it wasn’t long before I fell head over heels for you. We weren’t perfect—we were far from it—but we were perfectly imperfect together. Our jagged edges of broken glass fit together and created a masterpiece. We were the perfect balance, and damn we had so much fun. I never felt safer than when I was in your arms. You became my happy place—with you, everything made sense.
And then, like a tornado with no warning, that safe place of mine was gone.
You didn’t just break my heart; you shattered it into a million little pieces.
Like a wave, you left my life as quickly as you came into it. You wouldn’t speak to me, acknowledge me, give me any kind of explanation or answer as to what the fuck just happened. I would have done anything just to have an answer—something, anything, that I could justify to myself, some kind of reason. I needed an explanation as to why I was left feeling so broken. But you wouldn’t even give me that. I had a pit in my stomach for days. How could I have been so foolish to ever believe in you, believe in us? I retraced our entire relationship looking for red flags that I must have missed, but couldn’t find any. I trusted you. Fuck, I loved you.
You threw me away like a piece of trash and moved on with your life like I never meant a thing to you. I knew I needed to accept that you were gone, but more than anything, I wanted you to come back to me, show up for me again, love me again. I needed you to be my safe place; I needed something to make sense again.
I felt so broken, so lost, so unsure of everything I thought I knew. I began doubting everything in my life. I tried every day to remind myself that I am enough, that I have a heart that shines bright, that loves hard and fearlessly. That no many how many times it breaks, I have and will always put every beautiful broken piece back together.
And little by little, I did. I grew from the pain you put me through and I emerged stronger and braver. I knew my worth and wouldn’t settle for less in the future.
I went out and had fun, went out on dates, flirted with men I never would have before. I gained this confidence that I never knew I had. And even though I still wanted answers, I realized it didn’t matter. Every day my heart ached for you a little less, until it didn’t ache at all.
But then you called me.
I didn’t even know what to say. I never thought your name would show up on my phone again. And suddenly, that pit in my stomach was back and it was the size of a boulder. Images flashed through my mind as the phone rang—every time you made me laugh, the late night talks we would have, every time you kissed my forehead. And then came the images of me crying all night long over you, not eating for days, driving myself crazy, and tormenting myself over all the unanswered questions.
I never should have answered the phone.
At first you acted like nothing had ever happened between us. You acted like you didn’t leave me crying in a heap on my bathroom floor. I needed you to understand what you did to me, and it was clear that you didn’t. I didn’t want to fight with you or yell at you or cry over you anymore. So in a vulnerable moment, I sent you a piece that I had written detailing the pain you put me through, every excruciating detail.
You felt terrible, apologized profusely, claimed you didn’t fully understand how much you hurt me. You were coming home in a few days and asked me to come over so we could talk about everything in person. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted answers but I was scared to let you back into my life. I felt paralyzed, torn between my head and my heart. Neither one could seem to make up their mind. And if I’m being perfectly honest, I still don’t know how to feel or what to do.
You don’t make it easy to say no—you’ve always been a smooth talker. You always have the perfect words to say to go along with those perfect eyes of yours.
Those fucking beautiful blue eyes.
I know the second I look into them again, I’m in trouble. I know that you’ll crash into me like a wave and I’ll be right back to that broken little girl crying on her bathroom floor. I shouldn’t trust you; I know I shouldn’t even speak to you and give you the time of day. Not after what you did to me.
It’s been a few days of you texting, and just like that, I find you crossing my mind again.
And I know in this moment how much trouble I’m in.
I catch myself thinking of you wherever I go. I saw this vintage bathtub today and it reminded me of that night in the barn together. That perfect, amazing night together; I thought about how much fun we had, how much we laughed. I thought about the way your hand grazed my leg and your lips gently kissed mine. Immediately that flood of feelings came rushing back. No matter how much I try to push them away and remind myself how horrible you were to me, how I deserve someone who actually gives a fuck, I can’t help but find myself thinking maybe this time it would be different.
Part of me would give anything, everything, just to have you step up and finally treat me the way I deserve to be treated. Part of me is still hanging onto the hope of you, to the hope of us.
You have become my own personal riptide that keeps sucking me in and spitting me out, trapping me in your undercurrent, the waves of you lifting me up and then, without warning, taking me down, drowning me.
I don’t know how I let myself get caught up in your current again. But I can only hope that this time I make it out alive.