I cried about my ex-boyfriend this morning. Just one tear, a single, solitary tear.
And then, maybe five minutes later, I realized I wasn’t really sad about it anymore.
I’m not sure how it happened, the tear I mean. I guess I just got wrapped up in thinking about things that I shouldn’t, thinking about how people change, how love fades, how sometimes people do dumb things that make you wonder whether or not they ever really loved you.
It sucks, doesn’t it?
I think it sucks even more because I know so many other people relate.
Why is it that we do stupid things, stupid things that we know will hurt other people, just to try to get over something or someone? Why do we close ourselves off? Why don’t we actually just say what we’re feeling, what’s going on in our head?
Sometimes I think that’s the hardest part of being a writer. You have this inherent push to say what’s on your mind. You have a desire to be so open about your heart, even the deepest parts of it. And you write it all to life on a page, on a keyboard, on a piece that’s published for the world to comb through. Yikes.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so honest, wasn’t so open. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this nagging part of my brain telling me to write everything down, to get it out, to share it with the world. Sometimes I read things that I’ve written and I can’t believe the sharp, painful truth. The truth that I was writing while it happened, like a fresh wound slicing through skin with every letter.
I cried over my ex-boyfriend this morning. One single tear. And I’m sitting here, on my back patio wondering why, wondering why it happened and more importantly, why I feel so compelled to write about it.
Maybe because I’m not alone. Maybe because there’s hundreds of exes shedding single tears, then laughing it off. Maybe because there’s so many people just like me, wondering why us humans suck at loving, suck at being honest, suck at telling people how we feel or saying ‘I love you,’ or asking for forgiveness, or apologizing, or all the things we find excuses not to do.
I guess this is my way of doing it. Of being vulnerable, of saying what’s on my mind, of forgiving, of apologizing, of letting go, of finding clarity.
I don’t know why things happen how they do or why we are the way we are, but what can you do? I guess you just wipe your cheek, you come home, you open your laptop, you bleed through the keys, you press ‘publish’ and you remember how to breathe.
Life goes on, and so do you.