We’re debating our song once again, trying to compromise between our contrasting music tastes with the radio on in the background for inspiration. We switch stations every few minutes, and he’s fiddling with the dial when we both freeze. He looks at me. Our minds seem to sync without saying a word and we know: This is our song. He’s not the dancing type, but he holds his hand out and pulls me up, into his strong arms. I let him lead for the first time, relinquishing the control I cling to for protection. And we dance.
Love is inescapable, a passion that grips us by our most sensitive emotions and won’t let go. Love is like a drug, giving us just enough so that we want more. And the more love we have, the less we are willing to give it up. Love entrances us with its beauty, giving us an allusion of perfection, a vision of flight, a mirage of hope. Love is gentle, like silk on a baby’s face. Love is more than lust and desire. It’s a wish for the one you love to have more than you do. It’s giving them everything you have even after you have nothing.
Months later, I’m putting on a façade of happiness. My best friends have planned a girls’ night. I’ve fooled everyone else for so long that I’ve begun to believe I’m healed myself. I cover the dark circles of insomnia with make up and I’m on my way to the restaurant when the all too familiar notes cast through the speakers like fishing lines, their hooks ripping past all my walls and into my seemingly healed heart with Marine-like precision. I let go. My strength slips away just as easily as the tears from my eyes. That was our song.
Heartbreak isn’t alluring like love, but it’s just as impossible to run from. When love’s short attention span is broken, heartbreak barges in, leaving not the careful edges of a surgeon, but rather the jagged, gaping holes of a chainsaw. Heartbreak mocks every thought of love you’ve ever given into. But it doesn’t stop at that. It reaches further, throwing your trust into a furnace of deceit. Then it hurls your confidence into a mob of gossip. And to finish you off, it tunnels out a hiding place, popping out at the most inappropriate times, just when you think you’ve recovered.
It only took a split second for every twisted, blocked out memory to race through my mind, for the front that I’ve put up to crumple. It only took me a split second to give up on feigning perfection. From that moment on, I understood that rather than actually healing, I had simply allowed the pain to fester and intensify. On that evening, I gathered all the parts that I had hurriedly misplaced at the scene of betrayal and laid them all out in front of me. And as I fit them back together, I accepted the truth: Love leads to heartbreak, and pain cannot be ignored.
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