They say it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. Those words are not comforting to me. But, I love you Deborah, he says as we sit on the couch in my basement, his voice shaky, and uncertain. He looks into my eyes as if pleading, no, begging for forgiveness. I don’t recognize these eyes that once provided me with happiness, security, and comfort. These eyes used to reassure me that indeed he did –used to love me. It hurts to look into them; I turn away.His face was just a blur, as tears collected, clouded my eyes and trailed down my cheeks until I could taste them. My mind has conflicting thoughts. Forgive him. Don’t forgive him. Say I love you. Don’t say I love you. No! I can’t! I couldn’t believe what he just told me. He kissed another girl. How could he? He kissed another girl. I thought he loved me. He kissed another girl. Shocked. “It’s not my fault,” he said. What! Not his fault? I hate him. I hate him. Horrifying silence. There was silence. Not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I’m struggling to find words that would answer my questions. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask him why. My mind wanders to a year earlier, a happier time, when we sat on this very same couch. I looked nervously in his eyes unable to hold my stare, unable to look away. I surrendered myself to the magic of love. I struggled to say the words “I love you” for the first time. But, soon thereafter, they came with an ease. He dominated my thoughts from the first time we touched, The little numerical codes on my pager of I love you, I miss you, and the voice mails of “Just thinking of you” and “Just wanted to say hi” gave me a sense of importance. My friends, family, and school came in second. He was my number one priority. I would fall asleep at night thinking about his kisses and wake up in the morning ...
