Or, I should say, the easier route. It is the only time I think I broke someone else’s heart, but I can’t be sure. I hurt them though. I hurt myself. My heart broke too, when I picked the easier route. I deserved the hurt and heartbreak that came with my choice.
I picked the easier route because he scared me. The intensity in his eyes when he looked at me; like I was the cure for blindness he never knew he had. The way he said my name; like it was the only word he needed to know. The safe and comforting way his arm felt on my shoulders. It felt like with his arm there, I could hold the weight of the world. And for a brief moment, when I allowed his arm to rest there, I did hold the weight of the world with ease.
He came at the wrong time. I was leaving and although I would come back, I knew I would be different. We both pushed each other away but it was half-assed. We didn’t push, we simply turned our backs with our fingers in our ears. La. La. La. As if we were the children that we weren’t, but still felt like.
I was different when I returned, and he was the same. The same intensity. The same smile. The same effect on my heart rate. But I didn’t want it. I was afraid that he could love me. I wanted to run and keep running. I didn’t deserve to be chased.
He chased anyway. And when he caught up, I was with someone else. Someone with a time stamp. Someone who would leave. Someone who wouldn’t come back. I gave that one my heart because he was the easy choice. I wasn’t afraid of him because he couldn’t ever love me. Not in the way I thought the other could. Maybe even did.
I picked the easy route because it was easy. Black and white. 1+1=2. I knew the beginning, the middle and the end before I cracked the cover.
I wasn’t ready to take the hard route. The one that could have ended in love. However, after all this time I don’t regret the ending. What I regret is the middle. What I did to him while I ran. While he waited. While he deemed me worthy to wait for. To chase. I was the hard route.
And he picked me anyway.