"I love pretending." "It's how we get by, no?"

It's been one year now since we gathered agreeably on your family's deck to celebrate your nineteenth year. I refused watermelon and tried not to cry, and after I'd left, you shed tears and expressed the sadness I couldn't. "She knows what you said about her. Someone told her what you really think of her."

That Saturday marked the end of what I consider our last "good" week. It seemed like everything went downhill from there, beginning with blame, anger and tears and ending with heartache and many good-byes.

You said "Move on!" Where do I go?

Several months later, you finally did what I was unable to do. I tried to sever the ties, but I loved you. I couldn't say good-bye permanently. I loved you. I tried to tailor God's plan for our lives because I wanted you by my side forever. We held on by a thread for five more painful weeks.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was trying to muddle through an Emily Dickinson poem analysis. As I got ready for church, I pleaded and prayed and begged. Who was I to ask God to change His mind? I picked out an ugly top I would be okay never wearing again because I knew I had to do an ugly thing. I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed. My only comfort at the time was Jeremy Camp's "I Still Believe;" I had the song on repeat. You picked me up for church and saw that I was crying. Naturally, you inquired about what had upset me. I just shook my head, unable to speak. You knew. We rode to church in complete silence, other than my occasional sniffle. We arrived. You parked. I did it. I cried some more. We walked into church and smiled at everyone like nothing was wrong; we played the perfect role of happy, plastic people. Some questioned the roll of toilet paper I had inside my purse; others knew better. I left the service early and paced around the gym as many times as it took until the final "Amen!" was exclaimed. You drove me home; we held hands for the last time. You walked me to my door. "Thank you for loving me enough to do this." Kiss. "That might have been our last kiss forever." I started crying again. You hugged me for what felt like forever and eventually drove yourself home.

Should have never started. Ain't that the way it always ends?

Love isn't laced with butterflies and rainbows all the time, but despite what Pat Benatar may believe, love isn't always a battlefield, either. Love is just a game. Certain people are better at playing it than others; meanwhile, some are just lucky. Some people play to win. Some people play to play. Some don't bother playing at all.

I have spent so much time pointing fingers and assigning blame that thankfulness slipped my mind. (I'm taking a deep breath of fresh air, but here it goes:) Thank you. Thank you for showing me what it's like to truly love someone and be loved in return. Thank you for putting my heart back together again--forget the fact that you shattered it later. That's not important today. Today, I feel grateful for the carefree times and the man you used to be. Thank you for your loyalty, even though it didn't last forever. Few things in this life do. It was always sufficient and thank you for your honesty and your friendship and for making me laugh all of the time. Thank you for the cotton candy Blizzard and the collage you made me for Christmas and driving just to my house just to remind me in person how much you loved me. Thank you for letting me cry on your shoulder late at night. Thank you for making me feel beautiful without make-up and while sporting sweat pants; I learned to love myself again because of the example you set. It mattered. Your thoughtfulness never went unnoticed. Thank you for loving me the best you knew how.

Happy birthday.

It's been one year now and I'm re-evaluating who I really am.

Who am I?

I'm joyful. I'm genuine. I struggle with compassion, but I'm trying and improving. I thrive off creativity. I feel like the majority of my life has been one unwise decision after another. I'm arrogant (and therefore a hypocrite,) but I would choose a giant ego over a low self-esteem any day. I'm recently brave and typically bold. Dynamic. Energetic. Optimistic. I know what I want. I know Who I'm living for. I'm finally realizing I'm so much better without you. And I don't mean that in an unkind or spiteful way. It's more like a following-God's-plan-creates-joy-and-peacefulness-in-my-heart kind of way.

The only place I can go is into Your arms
Where I throw to You my feeble prayers
In brokenness, I can see that this was Your will for me
Help me to know that You are near

I still believe in Your faithfulness
I still believe in Your truth
I still believe in Your Holy Word
Even when I don't see, I still believe

I'll say she never hurt me and look at it as learning and laugh about the good and the bad.

Is she spoiled?
No. I don't know how to explain this. She could be spoiled, but materialistic things have never interested her very much. She's deeper than that. She works very hard for everything she has. She doesn't expect anything to be handed to her, although it very well could be. She's not spoiled.

Is she smart?
Yes. She's one of the smartest people I've ever met. I wouldn't say she's "gifted." It's not like she's one of those students who can earn straight As without putting much effort forth. She studies and she studies and she studies. She doesn't blindly memorize information; instead, she makes sure she really comprehends what's going on. She's very ambitious. In fact, she wants to be a doctor someday.

From comparisons you have made, it seems like your friend has changed a lot. How does that make you feel?
I'm sad that she's changed in a nostalgic sense, but I've changed, too. I'm not who I was. I don't know her well enough to determine whether or not she's happy with where life has taken her, but I think she's at least content. She's safe and sound with the love of her life--what more could anyone want? And, sure, there are times when I wish things would go back to the infamous way they were. But if I hadn't lost my best friend(s), I think I would be less of a person today. I feel stronger as a Christian and as a person for the losses I have suffered.

Do you still love her?
Absolutely--and in a perfect world, love would be enough.

Written 05/19/07.

When did it start? When will it end?
Will it ever end? Are you going to be there every time I turn around?
I hope not.
Was it always about tangible things, or did it begin with the lies?
The broken promises? Nothing but self-loathing and jealousy?
Will this feeling ever stop?
Those song lyrics were never written about us.
I knew it all along. Did you always know, too?
Who did we think we were kidding?
My heart quit beating for you the moment you chose something that you wanted over my safety.
You promised me.
And I'm the selfish one? No. No, I don't think that's ever been the case.
That was back in October. Did you love me then?
Why don't you care that you've lost me? Why aren't you fighting for me?
Why do I expect you to?
Just when I thought you couldn't hurt me anymore, you proved me wrong.
You didn't stab me in the back. You stabbed me in the heart.
And you twisted the knife all around. And then you did it again.
I'm not a "fake," and I'm not unoriginal. I know that.
There is a huge difference between "borrowing ideas" and being "fake."
Everything that exists exists because of borrowed ideas.
Is it really over now, for good? Am I finally free?
Or will this be something that haunts me until my dying day?
Did I make the wrong decision? Did you?
Did we ever make the right decision?
No.
I would have done anything for you. I took the biggest fall of my life for you.
I'm still suffering consequences from that.
I gave up so much for you. I gave up my best friend for you.
And she's not coming back. I wish like hell she was here, but she's not.
I was always there for you when you needed me.
Always.
Will you still call me late at night? Will you still be there to hold my hand?
No.
You made everything my fault.
I tried so hard to make you the happiest person alive, but I was never good enough.
I'm still not good enough.
I did it all for you. I didn't live my life for anyone but you.
I don't know how I feel.
Maybe I'm relieved. Maybe I'm hurt. Maybe I'm scared. Maybe I'm not even affected at all.
Or maybe I've been so far gone all for of these years that even I can't tell the difference anymore.
I can't feel a thing at all.

Stupid boys and their stupid charm--or lack thereof.

Your chilly words lead me to wonder what you have become. Who are you? Your birth certificate proves that you're legally an adult now; however, you're acting more and more like a toddler restricted from playing with his favorite toy. I don't know what you expect me to say--I'm sorry? That’s where I get stuck. I'm sorry you feel hurt and disappointed. I'm sorry I'm the one who made you feel that way. But I refuse to apologize for speaking my mind and telling the truth. I will never feel sorry for the way my heart feels. (It has a mind of its own.) Save the simple for the simple-minded. I prefer heavy baggage and multiple layers. Jiminy Cricket harped over and over again that this would ruin our friendship, but I silenced him, convincing myself you were my best friend and you would remain by my side though thick and thin. I was wrong. If that’s the kind of love you'd give me, I'd rather be alone, believe me. It’s not the way you're supposed to treat me. I'd rather walk away.

Tell me about your last relationship.
The good times were worth the bad times. Essentially, I lost the people I cared about the most, my two best friends, but I learned a lot. I'm finally okay. I think that's an important part of the story.

I said from the start that you could take it or leave it­­­­--I prefer that you keep it--don't let it go. Don't let it go. I feel something. I feel something real. I feel something dangerous and exciting and new and spontaneous--I feel something I'm not used to feeling. I'm trying my hardest to stifle those feelings and keep them out of my heart's hasty reach. I spy danger ahead. I'm moving in three months. I can't feel this way. I shouldn't. You convince me to give it a try and my rebuttal is always the same: “I know better than to mix business with pleasure.” “Business and pleasure work well together when business doesn't have a girlfriend.” This is the best thing that I've ever had for real. We've both been shattered in the past by people we thought we loved and burned by our closest friends and we've been terrified of the future but we've triumphed anyway. We've been hurt. But we have also glued ourselves back together again. The odds are against us. You're this way. I'm that way. I believe this. You don't believe anything. I make all these lists and all these charts and I reason with myself but then you gaze at me with those deep, distinctive eyes and I forget why I ever questioned us in the first place. We don't have to be perfect to be right. You smoked the demons, gave me back my feelings; now, I am good to go!

Don't be a liar--don't say that everything's working when everything's broken! I shouldn't have to sleep with all the car keys in the house under my pillow. "You don't know this yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this." I'm tired of fighting and screaming and crying and having nowhere to go. I'm tired of excuses and irresponsibility and anger and blame. I'm tired of being backed into a corner, being pushed up against a wall, being stuck between a rock, a hard place and the nearest gas station. "It's not supposed to be this hard." Grow up or get out.