transformations

I prepared for a lot of things with us. 

I prepared for four extra feet running through the house, two extra mouths to feed. 

I prepared for the task of finding a home and a car to accommodate our family. 

The day we would inevitably have an end-all type of fight. 

The day we would go to bed having said such angry things, we didn’t wrap our legs around the others. 

I did not, however, prepare for the day you would walk out of my life for good. 

I did not prepare to watch my kids say your name and know you would never be back. 

I did not prepare to have an empty place in my heart where your kids used to be held. 

I did not prepare for the night I would have to go to bed knowing you would never take your place beside me again. 

From the man who drove 67 miles to see my face for five minutes, to the man who walked away from me without a second thought, without a moment of remorse for the damage done, on a decision made in fifteen minutes. 

The right man. The right ways. Whatever, forever. 

Two small words have left me aching. 

My eyes burn from crying when tears will no longer flow, my throat aches from crying out for you. 

I have been left so confused, so angry, so jarred and so scarred. 

I know one day, this will not be so painful. 

I know one day, I will think of you and not find myself searching for answers that I will never get. 

But today, I find myself replaying our story through my head. 

All the reassurance you freely gave, the way you said the difference between you and every other man in my life was the way you valued me. 

How you said all I would ever get from you was strong, steady love without question. Unconditional. Real. 

The way you’d listen and the way you hugged me having learned the most painful pieces of my life. 

How you would never go to sleep if we weren’t perfect. Rational, reasonable, loving me enough. 

The way I asked you if you still loved me and without missing a beat, you never failed to say yes. Always. Forever. 

The promises to stand by me, through anything and everything. To hold me, kiss me, put back my broken pieces because I was enough and worthy of good things. 

All the mornings I woke up to you pressed into me, whispering sweet words in my ear because you would miss me that day. 

“Biologically attracted.” You craved the way I smelled, you craved the way I tasted. Your lips needed my lips, your skin needed my touch. 

The way you said I made you feel things you’d never felt. With me, you felt more, loved more. 

The unwavering support, how you believed I could accomplish anything because I was unstoppable and amazing in your eyes. 

The thoughtless kisses that happened like a routine we’d had for years, the way our lives meshed and everything came so natural.

No one else knows the words spoken between us behind closed doors. The way you’d gently kiss my forehead, the way you said you needed me. The times I held you while you cried. 

I was your person. You could feel it when you looked at me. 

You said all the right things at the right times and I was done for. Melted. 

I was afraid. Apprehensive. You said just fall, you’d catch me. 

You let me crash into the fucking ground, full speed and unaware. 

The silence is deafening, the sadness is all consuming. 

The confusion never ceases, the anxiety never eases. . 

Every day is a new battle, knowing I deserve more than what you gave me but missing you so much, I would run to you if you would let me. 

Progress comes as only checking my phone three times this hour in search of your face. 

Progress comes as realizing this pain stems from more than your utter abandonment of me. 

Tossed aside like trash, forgotten in only moments. A trend in my life. 

The real test comes when I can listen to our song without tears, without feeling like someone punched me in the stomach and stole all the air from my lungs. 

I would love to blame you, to hate you, to wish terrible things for your life. 

“A good man who did a shit thing.” I saw things in you that no one else could see. 

My heart aches, my skin longs to be touched by you. My brain won’t let you go.

All of me hopes that you find what you couldn’t find in me. That’s how I know that all the things you made me feel were real, even if for a fleeting moment. 

Do you hurt when thinking of me? Is there an ache? Have you cried out for me? 

It’s such an unsettling feeling, to be thankful to have been loved by you and equally as angry I ever met you, just to watch you go.

To cry with the sad songs because they speak to me. To smile to the love songs because I know what it feels like. To blast the angry songs because hell yes I am angry. 

The mess you left behind, the love I still feel when I think of your face. The way in which your lips moved when you said “I love you”. I can’t stop feeling, thinking, wishing for a different ending. 

I want to move on but my legs are stationary, waiting and hoping you come back.

The connection between my heart, my brain, and my body is fried from the suddenness of your decision. I don’t know where to turn, what to say, where I go from here.  

I may search for your face in a crowd and on my phone, but you will search for the way I love you in every person you meet.  

My words play on repeat, “I have so much love to give and no one to give it to.” 

Why can’t I give it to myself? 

So maybe there’s power to be found in heartbreak. All the broken pieces on the floor can be rearranged; a complete transformation of my heart. 

All the pain, all the regret, the fears, the insecurities, tossed aside and forgotten, replaced with self assuredness, hope, and the understanding that I offer everyone else when I never allowed myself the same luxury. 

I am the author of my own story. I am the only one who can change the ending. Why did I allow you such power over my heart? What made me decide that your explanation or lack thereof could impede my healing? 

Any movement is a step in the right direction so even if my biggest win is putting my left foot in front of my right, I will congratulate myself and feel proud that I am no longer stagnant in my own journey. 

So maybe this isn’t a story of heartbreak, or depression, or even our story at all. 

Like a bone that needs to be re-broken to heal properly, I will find solace in the chaos that leads to wholeness, I will find beauty in the broken.