I’ll admit that I’ve been putting off writing this. I’m not good with emotions, especially the bad ones- the painstakingly familiar ones that keep you up all hours of the night. I’m also not quite sure where to start. Relationships are complex. They can begin at the first, “hello,” the first “I love you”, the first kiss, etc. I think mine began at the first unplanned kiss- the one where I grabbed him in the middle of an empty hallway and broke all boundaries we built for protection. I spent years of my life on him. Notice how I didn’t say, “wasted?” This time last year “wasted” would’ve definitely been my word of choice but that’s the thing about falling out of love, it gives you the strength to look on the past with new insight.
At first, the nights were restless and I clung to my phone waiting for the 3 am, “I miss you” call. When those calls came, it was heartbreaking; when those calls didn’t come, it was heartbreaking. In those initial weeks after the breakup… the world changed all around me. I’m a fan of metaphors, so I’ll try this one on for size: Imagine a bench. It’s sitting in the middle of golf course with green grass. It’s hand carved and there is an obvious amount of time that went into building this bench. You admire the artwork, and the scenery around it. You like the way the world looks from the seat of this bench. Now imagine, one day the bench is gone. Maybe for a reason, maybe someone took it away from you, or maybe you decided you didn’t like it there anymore; either way, it’s gone. In its place is dead grass. The grass is obvious and obtrusive, a complete contrast to what you had before. It’s alarming and saddening, you miss what you had before. It takes some time (maybe a lot of time) but the grass grows back.
Everything changes and there’s a patch of dead grass where you used to find support and stability. Even you change. When the grass grows back, you’ll find normalcy again. It took time for me, actually it took a lot of time but I found my normalcy. And then I saw his face.
That’s another thing about falling out of love. You might think the whole process is over and done with or complete but then something as trivial as an old t-shirt in the back of your closet brings you right back. It’s a hurt that can’t be easily named or described. It’s more of an aching. Even in writing this I can feel that ache. It’s consistent and burdens you to the point of annoyance. You don’t want to feel this way, but you just can’t help it. I remember seeing him for the first time in months after our break up. My stomach dropped like I was freefalling through the sky. I was angry. I was furious. Mostly at myself though. I was frustrated that after all of the time spent getting over him, one look at him melted my very being. I took this anger out on him and he wasn’t very nice to me either.
He would show up wherever I was- a temporary girl on his arm and I made a point to laugh with friends whenever he looked my way. We’d exchange angry texts and pick fights over insubstantial issues we created in our own minds. We tried to hate each other so we couldn’t love each other. It was torture of the heart. This continued for a long time. Somewhere along the line, I think we got tired. Instead, we became good at ignoring each other. When we had to acknowledge the existence of one another, polite smiles were exchanged accompanied by eyes holding secrets.
Memory is an interesting thing and often times we remember events differently than they actually may occur but there is an exception. It’s called a flash-bulb memory. It’s charged by overpowering emotion and it imprints itself in your mind. The day I ran into his father, who told me how much his son missed me, I like to think that’s one of my flash-bulb memories. So we tried again. It didn’t work. I can’t speak for him but it hurt worse the second time around. Another lesson I’ve learned about relationships… if it didn’t work the first time then there’s a good chance it’s not meant to be the second time.
Present day: time changes everything, especially people. I’ve changed immensely the past couple of years and so has he. The people we are now, we’re like two pieces of a puzzle that could never fit no matter how hard you try to jam them together. The people we were back then they’re a different story entirely. I’ll always love so deeply for those people that I barely know anymore. I’ll always be in love with that boyish grin that made a younger me go weak at the knees. This is the part where I really get emotional. This is the painstakingly familiar emotion that keeps me up at night. Wanting.
Sometimes, I have to use that word because of my pride. I want for those people so badly. I want those simpler times. I want to sit on my bench and admire the perfectly ordered and simple life around me. I want that golf course green grass and I want the boy he used to be. I want the girl I used to be. At the same time, I know the future for those two. I know that growing up and the evolution of time shapes those two people in ways that don’t allow them to fit together anymore.
At least for me, that’s what falling out of love was like. It was devastating and frustrating. At times, it was warmth and closure. It was casual conversations and polite eye contact. It was the false perception of moving on. It was angry words with passionate meaning. It was growing and it was learning. It was 3 am phone calls when all truths are exposed. It’s still 3 am phone calls; sometimes you just can’t help it. More than anything, it’s a knowing that you never experienced anything like it before. It’s the sort of insight that leaves you feeling refreshed. Perhaps, we never fall out of love. I know that I’ll always want for that boy and that girl sitting together on the bench. I’ll always be in love with them and the way they used to be.