Tuesday, July 4th

Two and a half years. That's how long I was able to call you mine. But that's not totally accurate, because you were never really mine to begin with. I thought I had you to keep; the endless nights, the long conversations, the days where I just couldn't stop thinking about you, and supposedly you about me. Where did that go? This question has been haunting me for the past four months, the grueling four months that I have been without you. Did you really love me? Do you still love me? Will you ever love me, the way that I love you? Except now that "love" has turned to "loved." Will you ever love me the way that I once loved you?

That change, that single letter addition, arrived just recently. After many, many sleepless nights, I'm finally beginning to get over you. Isn't that sad? Just now "beginning" to get over you? It's been four months, plus the few while we were still dating but not exactly together, and I am just now "beginning" to stop loving you. If it were my choice, I would still be loving you, indefinitely. But I have discovered that love is a choice, much like happiness is a choice. I believe in the magic of falling in love- the timing, the setting, the person, the alignment of the three; yes I believe falling in love is chance. But staying in love, that is a choice. And you've stopped choosing me.

I've always wanted a man who loves me as much as I love him; it has been my dream since I was about sixteen and had my first taste of love. I had lost that first love, a puppy love that was too young, too innocent to amount to anything more. Now I have lost you, the most intimate, fulfilling, world changing love I have ever experienced. I know I am still young. I know I still have plenty of time to experience new kinds of love. But I really thought you were the one. Now it is clear that you are not, and I am back at square one. I have reclaimed that dream, that hope of a connection so deep it hurts, and it is terrifying. And crazy enough, I have found a man who wants to be with me. I thought that would surely never happen ever again. I was imagining a life with myself, a golden retriever, and lots of plants and sunshine. It was good, but undeniably lonely. I could make it work, I know I could, but there's something to be said about comfort and fear. Being alone would be comfortable. I would give my heart to no one but myself, at least in the way I had once given my heart to you. And I would be safe. But here I am, faced with the possibility of giving my heart away again. I must face the fear that comes with choosing to love someone new, of letting another human hold my fragile being, and releasing myself to him. Terrifying. But as crazy as it may seem, I know I have to try. In that fear is the possibility of heartbreak, but also the possibility of love. And I truly believe that love is the reason for life. So take my heart, my insecurities, my many broken pieces. Take my tears and my laughter, my anger and my fears, and do with them what you may. Because if I am going to find love, I know I have to be all in.

Wish me luck.