What Happened To You?

When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.

-Franklin D. Roosevelt

We were in love and at your apartment. You were unlike any girl I have ever dated before. You looked different. You acted different. You were more attractive. You were undescribingly unique. I was excited and felt lucky to call you mine.

I was in a good place in life. I had just graduated college, and the world was at my disposal. I felt like I could go in any direction, do anything that I wanted to do.

You had just made me breakfast, and I was in heaven. We had just got done having sex, and I was having the best shower while the smell of eggs and oatmeal came in the room. I sat down before leaving to go to school to have the meal that you prepared for me, and it tasted ten times better just because you had prepared it for me.

I took a break and played your guitar, and strummed a couple of satisfying chords as you hummed along a tune. That was something special to me that I think we shared – a love for music.

I was insanely attracted to you, and was attracted to everything about you. You were an ideal girl I envisioned as having as a girlfriend while I was in college. You had long hair, and you had a tiny waist and had an outgoing personality. You loved doing adventurous activities, and you were religious which is what I envisioned my future wife as being.

When you hugged me, it felt good. You would hug me tight, and look at me like you genuinely liked me and were attracted to me. We had seemingly the same moral values, and seemed to want to go in the same direction in life.

Then one day all of that changed. You called me and broke up with me. I came to your apartment shortly after to try to reconcile and talk in person with you, but you had made up your mind. We cried and ate chicken noodle soup, and I sat on your couch and played guitar one last time, and left.

I tried to reconcile one more time, and make things right between us, no matter how embarrassing it was. I was prepared to drive to your apartment and hold a jukebox over my head if that meant I could get you back.

I met you outside your apartment for the last time and got out of my car. God, I was so nervous for what I was about to do. I took out a bag and gave it to you. It was your Christmas presents, and you seemed to like them and think they were funny.

“This is going well,” I secretly thought to myself.

I then reached in my car and took out what I hoped would be my savior, my salvation, my secret weapon to help me convince this girl who I thought was the love of my life to be my girlfriend again.

I brought out my guitar and took it out of its guitar case. I started strumming the chords to play and sing you a special song, written by yours truly. I strummed the chords and felt my face getting red. I didn’t play and sing for anybody, except for my mom that one time on her birthday.

You giggled at some of the ridiculous and silly lyrics, and I felt my boyish face get even redder. Ever since I was a child, the one emotion I could never seem to hide was embarrassment. Only if I could have hid it in that moment.

The last line of the song was, “will you be with me?” which you answered quickly with a no followed be a giggle. There was no more reason for me to embarrass myself in public any longer, so I picked up my guitar, and drove home.

I didn’t hear from you until several months later. We met up and talked at a cafe and nothing really came of it. Then you popped into my life again a year or two after that, only to come over to my house and leave me heartbroken and disappointed again.

Then you got married, to someone who seemed no more special or unique than I ever was, and who seemed to be not very nice to you.

“Did she really leave me for him?” was the question I found myself asking myself countless times.

You even got divorced from this person, which made me feel more dumb and more confused as to why you broke up with me several years ago. We had similar interests, we were in love, and although we had our share of fights, I was a good guy at heart and seemed to have loads more to offer than these other losers you were dating. What happened? What in the hell happened?

Maybe I myself am not fully over this breakup, and maybe I never will be. Maybe some breakups are breakups that will always leave you wondering, “what happened?” The good thing now is that I am not crying over it anymore, and have moved on to a place where I have grown into a better man. Do I get bitter about it sometimes? Yes, but it goes away pretty quickly when I realize that I have moved on and lived life past that time when I was with this girl. I have realized there are other girls out there, and although I miss her a lot sometimes, she is not the only person in the world for me, and there are new things to be found beyond the horizon.

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