To the boy that broke my heart:

I wish I could say that I hate you. I wish I could pick everything that I am up, to leave all that made us behind. I wish I could close you out; to not care about you anymore. To act like you never existed. To return to a life filled with normalcy; to return to a life devoid of plane trips and adventure

I wish you had never shown me what it’s like to love. I wish some other boy had broken my heart. Some boy that is less special and less strange, some boy that does not know how to contain me. Some boy that I would have loved less. Some boy that I feel like I could live without.

I do not know why God gave me you. It all feels a little cruel, really. To give me all I’ve ever dreamed of: to hold it right in my face, to let me grasp it for only just a moment. And that’s all it ever was. Just a moment.

Our love is an ember, and I am dying of the cold. So I reach out to the heat, to feel it if only for a second. And for a brief moment I am not so freezing anymore, and I reach out to grasp it, to let the flames consume me. But you burn me. And I do not understand why. How could something that was once so comforting hurt me so greatly? How could it leave behind little puckered scars on my fingertips?

I wish I could describe the feeling of loving someone who has already given up on you in a simple way. But it is not simple. And you are not simple. And even when you still wanted to hold me, that was not simple either.

At one time I thought it was unfair you were leaving me when the trees had started to tint orange. I had once thought autumn was beautiful; and to be honest, it still is. But it is also sad and deceptive. Everything is shriveling up, is slowly fluttering to the ground in discolored husks like little crunchy tears. As if God was crying for the trees, who have to ready themselves for the long Winter. As if God was crying for the little flowers, now bent over, all signs of their former beauty now shriveled into a brown corpse. As if God were crying for me.