You were the catalyst for long walks on the beach, sand-burned knees and rumpled robin’s egg blue panties. You were the birthday candles, shooting stars and 11:11 alarm clocks.
I wish I could blame you for the four broken hearts following the one you gave me. Sometimes it feels like your fault when I throw things. When I look at last year’s wake, I could name you as the cause.
You were the first, the everything. The hope, the dream, the future. You were something to look forward to, and my reason to burn bridges. You were my go-to, my come-from. The want of you overpowered the logistics of having you, and your absence felt stronger than the presence of any other.
But I survived you. No longer am I a stranger to deep-seeded resentment, or soul-crushing disappointment. I couldn’t call us meant-to-be anymore. I couldn’t call you my savior anymore. I couldn’t call myself a good girl anymore.
I love you still. More now for what you did to me, than for what we had together. We weren’t special. And you knew it. You knew our fantasies outweighed reality. You knew there was more out there for me than more waiting.
You were the catalyst for tearing my life apart, ripping down curtains and building up walls. You were the first step in going where I deserved to be. You were the cornerstone for if not now, then when?