One day you’ll be the story I tell my daughter when she experiences her first heartbreak. When she’s crying so hard she can barely breathe. When she stays in bed for days and stops eating. When she can’t close her eyes because images of him haunt her. When she’s screaming as she throws away his hoodie. When she can’t bring herself to delete the picture of him because she is still holding out hope. When she thinks she’ll never be able to love again, I’ll tell her the story of us.
I’ll tell her about how when we ended, it broke me into a million little pieces. How I thought I would never be able to recover. How my parents were worried about me for months after. I’ll tell her about how one minute I would be fine and then the next I’d be on the floor, mascara streaming down my face. I’ll tell her how I couldn’t steady myself, shaking uncontrollably. I’ll tell her how even though you broke my heart, I could never hate you. How even after all the heartbreak, I would have taken you back if you had just apologized.
But when she finally finds the strength to get out of bed, I’ll tell her about how everything happens for a reason. How losing you was the best thing to ever happen to me because if you hadn’t broken my heart, I never would have met her dad. But I’ll also tell her that I still think about you, that it still hurts, but eventually it becomes a dull pain rather than a stake through the heart.
What I’ll never tell her is that your number is still saved in my phone along with old pictures of us. I’ll never tell her about the chill that runs down my spine when I hear your name. I’ll never tell her that you still appear in my dreams from time to time. And I especially will never tell her that I still have feelings for you that I don’t think will ever go away. I’ll never tell her that I carry a part of you with me always.