It’s Friday evening and I am sitting on my couch with a glass of wine scrolling through my ex’s social media. No account in particular because I am thoroughly scanning each one that I can easily troll without being noticed. This is probably the third time this month that I have looked at pictures of him and his latest girl drink beers on the porch or take selfies at her cool job. With every click, scroll, and scan; I am getting more and more pissed off. His happiness literally gets under my skin and the only emotion I feel is actually a color. RED. I see it when I watch him make music in the studio. I see it when I watch him order his favorite Frap at Starbucks. I see it when I just think of him.
10 years ago, I met him through a mutual friend in high school. He quickly became my best friend and confidant. I’d never be
en in love before that so when it happened with him, it felt like running full speed on a cool, windy day. He took my breath away.
Over those 10 years, we broke up, he moved away, I went to college, he traveled with a non profit, I explored my sexuality, he explored his sexuality, I fell in love again and again, he closed himself off from love more and more, I had a baby, and he never grew up. Our lives pulled us in different directions but somehow, our paths would find a way to hover over one another; barely touching.
It had been a long while since we had been in a place where we could be in each other’s lives fully, with no holding back. A little over 2 years ago, I found myself in the most vulnerable, lonely place that I’d ever experienced. I was jobless, on the verge of losing everything, sharing custody of my child, and in a dire need of human affection from someone that loved me; someone that could just let me pour myself into them. So, I contacted him. It was slow at first. I would travel out to see him on the days that I didn’t have any plans. We would wrap ourselves up in each other and make loosely held together promises. He’d whisper in my ear, lips touching my skin; that he was so glad that I was there. He was the healing that I needed. We would make love to the sound of his music. It was like making love to him twice; once with my body, then again with my soul.
There were red flags, though, that told me that life had changed us far too much. We were like mismatched puzzle pieces trying to fit into each other. It just didn’t work. He eventually stop calling and left me there in my loneliness to drown in it.
Even still, after digging myself out of that ditch of despair, I found a way to forgive him and try a hand at friendship. Last winter, again, I found myself travelling on the train to see him. Again, I found myself wrapped up in him. Again, I found myself hung up on this man that was completely unhooked from me. Again, he left me with stupid spread wide across my face. This time, though, I changed my phone number. I blocked him on social media. I made it clear I didn’t want to hear from ever again. He said that was alright with him and it stung.
Now, a while later, I still travel to see him on Twitter, Facebook, or wherever I think I can still capture small glimpses of his life. I feel cheated. I feel pissed off that he couldn’t value me. If you were looking for some sort of resolve at the end of this; I’m sorry. There isn’t. I am just a girl still trying to get over her first love.