Buona Notte.
Emblazoned on my mind are the days where I'd wake and he'd be there--next to me, breathing, alive, in love. With me.
But that's just what those are--memories of a decade long love that no longer exists. I still cry. My heart still aches. My mind still goes back to moments filled with joy and laughter, side by side with a person that became not only my lover, confidant, and go-to, but also my best friend. I am aware of how cliched this sounds, of how you meet someone and just know that they are it, but I don't care.
When he walked into my life 10 years ago, inside the darkened bar that brought us together, I knew. I can still see him dressed in a tux, his piercing blue eyes staring into my soul, and a smile that quite literally brightened the whole room. Perfection. I had never seen it before until that moment, but there it stood, in front of me, captivating my heart in ways I had never experienced.
I have not been able to write since our breakup in February. I've been too fucking terrified and broken, too fucking confused and uncertain of what I'd say, that I just didn't. Until recently, my heart and mind have been contorted with grief, that writing (always my biggest love and greatest medicine) felt impossible. What the fuck would I say? Who would care? What if he reads this? What if they all do? What if....
The thing is, is that any what if could happen, but who really gives a shit? My life is my life. My voice is my voice. My heart is my heart. If anyone doesn't like what I write then they can stop reading RIGHT NOW. The choice is in their hands, and only in their hands do they have the power to scroll or not scroll.
My point is this--I have spent the last 25 years of my life living for other people. Waiting, hoping, praying, wishing, begging, pleading, and hoping some more, that they would just get me. That they would just love me the way I deserve to be loved. That they would just choose me, consistently. And although most of those people did at some point--choose me and love me, eventually they stopped. At some point I became something they didn't want anymore, and as painful and earth-shattering as that has been, this one, the big one, has been the hardest.
I write to live. I write to love. I write to feel whole and free. And I write because it's all I really know how to do, even if I'm not the greatest at it. So when someone told me recently that in order to find my voice again, I had to write what I was most afraid to write, I knew what I had to do.
Writing about my heartbreak is what I know. It isn't pleasant and it doesn't have to be in every story I choose to write moving forward. It will be here, in my first post since January, when I wrote about him last, that I set it free. And it will be here, in this post, that I say the following:
But that's just what those are--memories of a decade long love that no longer exists. I still cry. My heart still aches. My mind still goes back to moments filled with joy and laughter, side by side with a person that became not only my lover, confidant, and go-to, but also my best friend. I am aware of how cliched this sounds, of how you meet someone and just know that they are it, but I don't care.
When he walked into my life 10 years ago, inside the darkened bar that brought us together, I knew. I can still see him dressed in a tux, his piercing blue eyes staring into my soul, and a smile that quite literally brightened the whole room. Perfection. I had never seen it before until that moment, but there it stood, in front of me, captivating my heart in ways I had never experienced.
I have not been able to write since our breakup in February. I've been too fucking terrified and broken, too fucking confused and uncertain of what I'd say, that I just didn't. Until recently, my heart and mind have been contorted with grief, that writing (always my biggest love and greatest medicine) felt impossible. What the fuck would I say? Who would care? What if he reads this? What if they all do? What if....
The thing is, is that any what if could happen, but who really gives a shit? My life is my life. My voice is my voice. My heart is my heart. If anyone doesn't like what I write then they can stop reading RIGHT NOW. The choice is in their hands, and only in their hands do they have the power to scroll or not scroll.
My point is this--I have spent the last 25 years of my life living for other people. Waiting, hoping, praying, wishing, begging, pleading, and hoping some more, that they would just get me. That they would just love me the way I deserve to be loved. That they would just choose me, consistently. And although most of those people did at some point--choose me and love me, eventually they stopped. At some point I became something they didn't want anymore, and as painful and earth-shattering as that has been, this one, the big one, has been the hardest.
I write to live. I write to love. I write to feel whole and free. And I write because it's all I really know how to do, even if I'm not the greatest at it. So when someone told me recently that in order to find my voice again, I had to write what I was most afraid to write, I knew what I had to do.
Writing about my heartbreak is what I know. It isn't pleasant and it doesn't have to be in every story I choose to write moving forward. It will be here, in my first post since January, when I wrote about him last, that I set it free. And it will be here, in this post, that I say the following:
- I am grateful and utterly blessed to have loved a human being with the magnitude at which I loved him, for 10 years.
- I am lucky and honored that I was able to give someone my heart for so long and that in return, he gave me his for as long as he could as well.
- He is and always will be--a beautiful soul who shaped my life, changed my life, saved my life. Even if he thinks he didn't do much, he did. He loved me, he made me laugh more than anyone I know, he understood so many dusty corners of my soul and chose to love me there as well. And for that, I will always be thankful.
- I will always carry him in my heart. I have no ill will, resentment, anger, or any other negative emotion towards him. Just love.
- He deserves the greatest life, the greatest love, the greatest success and joy. The greatest of all things life has to offer.
- Just because we didn't work out, doesn't mean I don't believe in that all-consuming kind of love. I do and always will, believe in it.
- I am okay. I am strong. I am brave. I am beautiful, inside and out.
- I am happy.
To my friends who have been essential in my recovery--I would not be here without all of your love and support, and shoulders that I've cried many tears on. You are my soul partners in this thing we all call life, and you're so needed, wanted, loved, by me, always.
To my family--lucky am I to be connected to each of you not only by blood, but most importantly, by heart. You save me time and time again. You will never know how much that has meant to me. Someday, I hope to show you just how much your love and protection got me through. Te amo mucho con todo mi corazon, siempre!
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