Dear Rebound,
I hate that I am branding you with such a heavily frowned upon title, but I simply cannot find another word that properly describes you. Besides, if we are being honest, you and I both know it is exactly what you are. You are just a rebound.
From the very beginning, I knew that we would never last. No matter how many times I told myself I was really into you, deep down I knew I was into someone else. I had recently gotten out of an insanely hectic relationship that left me with the emotional stability of an earthquake ranked 10.0 on the Richter scale. When we initially started talking, I thought you were going to be the tall, dreamy, Irish antidote to my broken heart. I remember telling all of my friends how pretty you were ─ so pretty that it hurt. Obviously, the unanimous response that they gave me was raised eyebrows and disapproving sighs. They questioned me for moving on so quickly, but of course, I blew them off.I did not want to think about the pain, the loneliness, or worst of all, him. I only wanted to think about you. I can still remember our first date like it was yesterday. The outfit that I wore to dinner with you was his favorite black dress. My hair was styled the way that he liked it and the perfume I spritzed on my neck was for him, not you. I may have been getting ready to see you, but I was getting ready for him.
Unsurprisingly, our first date was a disaster. Wait, I lied. The only surprising part of the evening was when you asked to take me out on a second date. Other than that, the date was miserable for me. I may have told you I was going to “powder up in the little girls’ room,” but in reality, I locked myself in a bathroom stall and cried. After giving myself a stern pep talk in the bathroom mirror, I marched back to our table and forced fake laughs and phony googly eyes for the duration of dinner. So, to put it lightly, I was the hot mess express and you were the unwitting passenger who walked aboard.
Things were only good for a short period of time ─ four days to be exact. Late one night I got a message from you telling me you were in the emergency room and a photo of your face, which was covered in blood. Apparently, you were goofing around with some friends, hit your head, and suffered a severe concussion. From that point forward, we were basically Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore starring in our own version of 50 First Dates. Since I had only known you for a few days before your accident, I was essentially a stranger, but your short-term memory loss made me a forever stranger.
Needless to say, the next few weeks were short-lived. I was not able to truly allow myself to fall for you, and you became increasingly angrier with your situation. We were both dealing with our own demons and fate did not care enough to intervene. Watching you struggle with your memory, fall behind in classes, and move back home broke my heart. Based off what your friends told me and what I briefly witnessed before your accident, you were an amazing man. I may not have been in love with you, but I definitely cared for you. I desperately wish you never had the accident; I would have liked to spend more than four days getting to know you.
If it is any consolation, I wanted to have genuine feelings for you, but our timing could not have been worse. We both needed to recover in our own ways before attempting a real relationship. Stupidly, rather than letting our wounds heal, we poured salt into them. We hung out 24/7 and texted each other every minute we were apart. I know we both wanted to hit the ground running, but we only hit the ground.
Looking back on the short period of time that we spent together, I am grateful. I am glad that I met you. Somehow, suffering through my emotional turmoil while you suffered through a physical one helped me feel less alone.
I know that calling you a rebound comes with an array of negative connotations, but I hope you do not let that offend you. We did not end up as a happily ever after couple, but I have no regrets. I wish you the best.
Sincerely,
Stranger