It’s difficult to distinguish heartbreak from heartburn. When you left me at the train station and then told me the next morning, “You were kind of pissed, started drinking, and then just didn’t give a fuck.” That was heartburn. When you told me you did not think we could have a future together, because of our past while you callously ate a naked burrito. That was heartburn.
But at that time I couldn’t tell the difference between the break and the burn. When something hurts it’s uncomfortable; you squirm in disbelief as your mind tries to catch up with your charred emotions. However, when I think about heartbreak; true, painful heartbreak, I think of losing your breath as your stomach drops to the floor. I think of divorce, the death of a family. The break of a dynasty boiled down to the saddest combination of words, “irreconcilable differences.”
We did not share “irreconcilable differences.” Fundamentally we shared the same moral code, valued the relationships we made, and admired the small things. However I choose to ignore your inexcusable behavior. This is what breaks my heart.
There was too much that I ignored when it came to you. I ignored my best friend when she told me you grabbed and caressed her ankles from under the table while you sat across from us. I chose to look the other way when you slapped a friend’s ass in front of me at a crowded bar. I blacked out a friend telling me you pulled her into an empty room at a high school house party and sexually assaulted her.
I chose to love you anyways. I confided in you, blind to the truth, intoxicated with the idea of a warm body and open ears. It was my choice. I do not regret it.
Relationships are messy. Humans are deep and complex, an excuse can always be made. One more chance and maybe it will be different. With each excuse it was different, as my judgment became more clouded, my emotions more invested, and each telltale sign of your deceit became more and more inexcusable.
My heart burns for me and not you. Not us. My behavior and the role I played in our saga, this is what breaks my heart. That I could allow someone to treat me the way you did and think it was acceptable. That it was okay to not give a fuck. To say, “I love you, but…” as you hurried me into a cab back to Brooklyn.