Dear you,
I heard you're happy now. I heard you're making plans. I heard you've found the one.
It's been years and I thought I forgot about everything---the ups and downs, the thrill, the bliss, the pain. I was wrong. I may have learned to forgive and conveniently forget the memories but they were still there. The heart remembers. And a broken one will find it hard to look beyond its scars.
But fret not. I do not blame you. It was not entirely your fault. It was supposed to be a free fall and you are ready to catch me but I hesitated midway. I fought gravity but it still won. I still fell. Worse, I fell right outside of your waiting arms. That was when I learned the pitfalls of always putting one foot on the ground. In an attempt to keep balance, we trip faster, harder.
I loved you. It was not my all. But it is enough. I loved you enough to let you rip my heart out of my chest. I used not to understand how stealing hearts work. But you stole mine. I never intended to give it to you. Foolishly enough, I never took it back. Somewhere between exchanging messages of "I love you hahaha", holding hands in the theater, hugs under a starry sky, I let you take it away.
We were young. And young hearts are confused hearts. The lines were blurred and we were lost. Your palm was a small space to run around in and yet I called it home.
I heard she's special, that girl you love right now, and that you take care of her well. At some point back in our hazy memories, we were like that, as well. But before I knew it, you left. You left and you took half my heart with you, leaving me with a broken piece I can no longer use.
But time is a friend. And as it went, I noticed that my half a heart became whole again. It mended itself and grew a new one in place of where you tore of its old half. It is a grotesque sight. One part old and beaten with jagged edges where the broken part starts and the other half shiny and new.
This heart, once curious but never brave, is now carefully hidden. Boxed in fear, wrapped in doubt, with a nice ribbon of cynicism on top. It cannot fall in love again.
Now that I think of it, perhaps, I broke your heart too. That time you said you picture me as your wife but I laughed and said I don't picture you as a lover. I hid you from my friends. I always walk ahead of you when we are in public. I paired you with other girls.
But you had me. You had me whole.
You were not my first love but you are my first heartbreak. I wish not to measure but my heart was not broken when you had it. All the while what you gave me was your broken heart expecting me to mend it.
I guess we both failed. But you are happy now with someone new. Someone who is willing to take care of you in ways I was never able to. Six years now and I thought I've healed. I may have loved again after you but I guess, it was the kind of love I used to tell you about. The love that is a choice I consciously decide on. Not the kind we had which hit us so suddenly we were almost out of breath. It seems that I can no longer fall in love.
I am happy for you. But more than that, I also want to be happy for myself. We loved each other once, and perhaps, we still do. You were the first one who broke my heart. And it seems that you're also the last.
Love,
Your old friend
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