He’s unrelenting. Even when my mother didn’t approve at first, never gave him the slightest glance whenever he came over and greeted and smiled, even when the world kept spinning faster just waiting for us to lose our balance, he didn’t give up. He’s just there. Striving to prove himself worthy in my mother’s eyes. Waiting for me. Always, always, waiting for me.
Three summers ago I promised you I’d never love again. Of course you didn’t know. I never told you. But I promised. I really did.
I broke it last year. Sad, isn’t it? I just hate unfulfilled promises. But that one - among all the other dreams and things you ruined and left to die - that one promise of mine, I know, was worth breaking.
So who the hell are you to judge the love of my life?
The promise of firsts and of never loving again, the breaking point of what would’ve, should’ve, could’ve been forever, and all the sleepless nights spent wondering where it all went wrong, trying to see the dead end but ending up stumbling half-blindly in the dark until you lose your entire vision of the reality just waiting to snap your heart in two - they don’t know anything of it. The end of something that never even began was the sort of pain that they made fun of and crammed down my throat for me to choke on.