Maybe It’s Not My Fault

Maybe it wasn’t me that ruined my relationship. Maybe we just weren’t working well together anymore. Maybe it was time for us both to part for that very reason. I’m more focused than I ever have been on writing – sitting down to try and write an actual book. And I have some ideas. One of them being because my relationship inspired me. What love is really like. How people don’t always fall in love how they do in a Nicholas Sparks novel. Sometimes it’s not that easy. Anyway, thinking back to the very, very beginning of my relationship is bringing back a lot of good and painful memories. Good because they happened, but painful because now that’s all I have: the memories. I think back to the time when we were still in high school. When we were still really young and just barely adults in the eyes of the law. I think back to that summer. Our first summer together. How much he liked me, how much he loved me. How much I loved him. Everything that we would do for each other. Everything that he’d do for me, even before we became ‘official’. He liked me so, so much. And when I think of the beginning and when I think of the end, it’s so sad. As I’m sure it is for anybody. I thought that he always looked at me the same. That we would never stop doing those cute things for each other. And we didn’t stop. But thinking about it, you can just tell the difference. The difference from the beginning, middle, and end. All three parts had their own significance. All three parts made me cry, for different reasons of course. All three parts included the both of us. Me and him. Him and I. Now it’s either just me. Or it’s just him. We are separate. We’re not an ‘us’ anymore, and I don’t know if we will ever be again. I know this is going to sound one part crazy and two parts materialistic, but I was crying to one of my best friends last week. And it was a little stupid – or a lot stupid. I told her that he was the only boy who knows that I want a black diamond engagement ring – white gold. And she’s like: “Well I would hope that if you’re in a relationship with someone and he proposed, he’d know you well enough to know about the black diamond engagement ring.” And she’s right. But that’s not something you can just throw out there. It was different with him. We could talk about anything and everything. We told each other everything. Or at least I thought we did. And then I continued to cry and asked sobbingly, “Who else is going to love my vagina like he did? I hate it, it’s so ugly!” and she couldn’t help but laugh a little and ask if this was a real thing right now. I would hope that the next relationship I’m in, we’d be close enough for me to tell him anything and vice versa. But I guess that’s just one of the things about trying to deal with the heartbreak of a first love. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their very first true love be their only love. That love is an irreplaceable love. And no matter how much you want to forget about it, just to stop the pain, you can’t. And in a way that’s kind of nice. And in other ways it sucks.


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