Broken hearts are hard to heal.
Everyone has a different remedy. Find a rebound. Get a hobby. Stuff yourself with chocolate and ice cream. Take up running. Get a dramatic new haircut. Buy some cute new shoes. Or clothes. Adopt a pet. Throw yourself into schoolwork. Surround yourself with friends.
I blog.
It doesn't matter what you do...all that matters is that you forget about the boy. Forget why you fell for him. Forget all the fabulous times you had together. Forget the funny stories.
After all, if you forget it all, you can't be reminded.
Tonight, I played a dangerous game with one of my friends. Eye for an eye, we exchanged lovelorn stories from kindergarten. Seventh grade. Senior year of high school. That one literature class for our English major.
It's amazing how one simple story can take you back. How you start to remember everything. The way his aftershave smells. How nervous he was when he asked you out to dinner for that first date. How much you hated men when you were stood up because of a misunderstanding. The first kiss. One memory just starts triggering all of the rest.
All of our stories ended with our sentences trailing off, as our minds wandered nostalgically back to days past.
Which brings me to my point.
I think no matter how hard we try, we never ever really get over past loves. We move on (or at least we try to), but a little part of our lives will forever be intertwined. And by a little part, I mean all of it.
But that's okay. These episodes shape us into who we are today.
For instance, I will forever associate seventh grade with my failed Sadies Hawkins' dance. And because of that, it will forever be hard for me to make the first move.
Orchestra will always be connected to my first huge crush. And prom. And Roman Holiday. And acting so silly at one of Switzerland's swankiest restaurants and consequently being grounded.
My memories are intertwined with these failed loves. But they're good memories.
My summer job in Los Angeles is now forever linked to memories of Tim. Trying on dorky sunglasses. Universal Studios. Singing along to Kelly Clarkson at the top of our lungs on a road trip to San Francisco. Thrift store Hawaiian shirts and poodle purses. Group rivalries.
And while I can look back fondly on orchestra and seventh grade algebra now, I can't yet look back at this summer. It's too soon.
Tim wrote me an email two weeks ago. And while I could ignore it then, blaming my upcoming test for not responding, I don't quite know what to do now. I could write him back. Be the bigger person. Give him the peace of mind he so desperately seeks. Pretend that yeah, I'm fine. We can be friends. But I'm not ready yet. So I deleted his email. Blocked him on facebook. Because to write him back? Would be opening old wounds. Ripping off the band-aid before I'm completely healed.
So much for shoes and chocolate and moving on. I just need time. We all need time.
Here's the take home message. You take as much time as you need. There's no clear-cut mathematical formula for figuring out how much time is enough time. You take exactly as much time as you need to figure out how much is enough. Don't erase your memories a la Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Because while those memories may be hard to recall now, those memories are us - at every point in our lives. Don't forget about the boy completely. You forget about the boy for a little bit so that you can look back when you're good and ready. So that when you look back, you get that nice warm nostalgic feeling.
Those boys after all are part of our memories. They're our memories of cooties and grade school plays and missing front teeth.
Broken hearts are hard to heal, but they do. With time. It's amazing really. We bounce back. We're resilient. We just need time.
3 years ago
