I had a eureka moment a night ago,
of course it’s at night when I was feeling low,
when a happy photo slid down my newsfeed
and, on it’s way, planting a introspective seed.
The photo was recent but it made me think back at loves before,
memories I kept locked because they make my soul sore.
I am young, but these thoughts make me feel ancient.
Looking back, the story I tell you has a blue tint.
My first love was Sean.
Older and wiser,
On his way out the door as I was just entering a world, fresh faced and giddy.
I put him on a pedestal,
I thought he was smart and strong and cool.
Every moment was filled with passion,
excitement, and bliss.
My glasses would fog when we kissed,
My palms would sweat every time we met.
It all tumbled down so fast,
and I cracked like a teacup,
dropped from his tray.
So when I saw a photo of him and his new girlfriend,
(who used to hate him),
despite my prior knowledge of their togetherness,
I felt the teacup crumble a little bit more.
Why do I care?
Why do I wish that he had stayed?
It was 3 years ago,
what’s wrong with me?
But can’t you see,
that the reason you’ve been puzzlingly unhappy with all men
since April 20th, 201o,
is that you never really got over him?
After your breakup, you played it safe.
Half your heart put on reserve, just in case.
The long relationship afterwards
was safe in the worst way.
Oh you loved him, of course.
But your glasses never fogged,
heart never danced,
palms never got sweaty.
Maybe you weren’t ready?
The new guy was Grant.
Steady, calm, and sweet,
but there was no impromptu dates,
no big dramatic kisses,
no long stares,
and no sage advice.
You realize after it ends,
that there were few moments where you loved him in the same way.
Those moments were beautiful, and properly mourned a couple weeks ago.
But now, as I have recovered,
I realize that I haven’t truely been myself these past 2 and half years dating him.
He never laughed at my jokes like Sean did,
he thought my sense of humor was weird,
so I slowly stopped being funny.
He hated it when I was overdramatic or made a scene, so I started keeping things to myself.
He thought poetry was for pussies so I wouldn’t share it with him, and worst of all,
he didn’t believe in magic, so I couldn’t believe in it with him.
He wasn’t abusive or a jerk, but he changed my personality so slowly that I didn’t even realize until he was gone.
I miss the girl who made jokes to be funny, who didn’t care about where she was when she was yelling, who believed in magic.
I miss the passion, abandon, and love of the first guy,
but until now I only remembered crying for hours afterwards, the loss, the grief, and the harsh rejections.
I spent so much time hating Sean for our horrible breakup that I forgot why I loved it so much.
It’s time for me to be funny, sing in public, and be silly.
It’s time for me to believe in magic, dragons, and the ridiculous.
It’s time for me to be childish and to feel utter joy.
No more restrained smiles, no more slight hugs.
No more chaste kisses, only ones with tongue.
I have no lover now, and I won’t for awhile,
but the next one won’t be
so safe it’s suffocating
nor so fast it makes me breathless.
It’s time for magic.