‘Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come’

— Taylor Swift, Love story.

PART I.

Seeing you again in the hallways, the memories of that love, and that same bitterness.

He saw me. I’m sure his eyes found mine, I’m sure our irises connected for an instant. I know our souls matched and broke all over again. I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. It’s crazy how we felt, how our proximity became that distance none of us can bear to break.

I look at him again, he’s staring at the ground. Of course he is. I knew he wasn’t the bravest man of all, I even loved him for that. But now he can’t look at me again and it makes me feel like the ugliest monster on earth. 

I walked past him. I could almost catch his scent, a mix of cold wood and washing powder. I used to breathe that scent, obsess over it as I fell asleep, and remember it in the early morning. I stop breathing. I don’t wanna smell it, I don’t wanna think about it. I just want to speed up the pace and leave the room.

The wind brushes my hair, refreshing my burning cheeks. Why are they burning? I turn around, he’s still looking at the ground. I don’t know why I’m disappointed, but it feels like someone just crushed my heart from my chest and it’s now lying in my stomach.

I remember his lips and the taste of them. I remember the anxiety and I remember the pain. I remember those lips I used to call mine, falling on someone else’s instead. I remember the broken glass, I think it escaped my hand as I saw you two. Like an imitation of my heart, it fell on the ground and broke into a million pieces. 

I remember the sleepless nights, speaking on the phone because not even the miles could tear us apart. I remember the promises, the forever, and the I love you. I thought we’d never end, I even told you so. You said you felt the same, you said you loved me more than anything else.

And I believed you.

But the cherry-colored lips of that girl must say the same now, and your pretty mouth must be answering those lies with a smile. You promised you’d never tell those lies to someone else than me. I must’ve been too in love to think, because how can you ever trust a liar once the first lie is spilled? 

You said I helped you reconstruct yourself, you never specified it’d break me on the way. You simply smiled and whispered another ‘I love you.’ You repeated it. ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.’

But I, I really loved you.

I loved you so much I screamed those lyrics at the top of my lungs, believing every second of it:

‘Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come’

Healing was hard. I cried, a lot, sometimes loudly, often inside, so deep inside even I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. Was it sadness? Was it fear? Did I want your love or just to be loved? I learned to love myself, painfully, but I did. 

So why do our eyes have to meet and ruin it all in a heartbeat?

I see her in the hallways, sometimes. In those instants, I imitate you and stare at the ground. I am not scared of her, I am scared of the anger. This anger is so hard to describe and so present it swallows every ounce of happiness I ever felt. I think it’d be easier if she wasn’t so pretty. I could hate her for something else than loving you because I did too.

Maybe she’s great, maybe I’d love her too. Maybe it’s not even about her. Maybe it’s about that crushing pain you feel, and the only person you brought into hell with you. This person is me, and I hate how I’d still hold onto those promises I swore if you allowed me to. Even in the breakup, even in the last breath, I was ready to help you, but you locked the door and left me in the snow, wet and cold, just like my soul.

PART II.

The summer, the drunk friends, and that same figure.

It’s the summer now, but seasons never healed a heartbreak like ours. My friends wanted to hang out, I said yes because I am healed. I promise myself every day I am healed. I. Am. Healed. I scream it sometimes because the sound of it makes it real, I think. I AM HEALED.

My friends are drunk now, dancing in the sunset with their feet in the water. They seem happy so I smile. Then I look to my left, and I see a well-known figure. I see your figure, playing in the sand with your friends, a ball flying in the orange sky. 

I empty my drink. My throat feels dry. I can only see your back, your naked back. Then I see her. She’s smiling, stepping in a little too close to catch something on your cheek. The ball land at my feet and I stare at it like an idiot. You turn around and your smile fades as you see me. I can’t deny it hurts but I fake the happiness I catch in your eyes. 

You look happy.

But worse, you look happy without me. 

A hand finds my shoulder. I look up as you step closer. It’s a boy who’s looking down at me. A friend of a friend, I don’t even know his name. I don’t care. I am not sure I’m still able to think straight. I get up and kiss him, passionately. I kiss him like I used to kiss you, only he doesn’t push me away at the thought of being seen. I actually think he likes it, so I keep kissing him. 

I only stop when I’m sure you walked away. I turn around just to be sure, and I find your arms wrapped around her shoulders. He still looks at me passionately when I turn around again. I was weak, I was lonely, so I went home with him.

I can’t say you weren’t on my mind that night. I thought it’d help with the heartache. It didn’t, but I found comfort in the arms of someone, and it still eased the pain. I already replaced your body, now I needed to replace your soul. I knew that’d be the tricky part.

PART III.

The winter holidays, that same old house, and that same sadness.

I started dating this boy, Kyle. He met my family, my father loves him. I’d like to say he likes him more than you, but it’d be a lie. I don’t like using him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Whenever I try to warn him, tell him I don’t love him, he only kisses me and tells me he doesn’t care. That’s not why he’s here. It’s not about love, it’s about need.

One night, we talked. It’s rare, we usually don’t communicate with words but this night was sleepless and he started talking about his life. His mother died when he was five, he fell in love with a girl that broke his heart. I promised him I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t break his heart because I wouldn’t let him love me. 

It worked for a while. We healed, at least superficially, but we both knew only a tiny cut could tear the whole scar apart, and the blood would flow at the first obstacle.

It did.

I heard you were still with her, so I started writing letters. I wouldn’t send them, but I needed to exteriorize the pain in some way. Kyle found the letters, we didn’t break up. He said he didn’t care about my heartache as long as I could survive you. I promised him I would, but will I?

After Christmas, we went on a holiday with my father. We went to that house we went to together the previous year. Do you remember, the smell of the frozen sea, the warmth of the fire, and the smile on our cheeks? It felt like a nightmare, like watching my greatest fear in front of my very own eyes. I remember telling you, the year before, how that place would never be the same anymore. 

I was right. So, so right.

I think my father noticed, at some point, my desperation. Kyle didn’t care, I thought it was a good thing at first, but I don’t think so anymore. I decided I’d break up with him in the spring. I promised him I’d survive you, but I decided to promise it to myself instead. I will survive you, one day. I will heal from that burning pain in my chest. I will. I still scream sometimes, just to make things a little more real. I WILL.

PART IV.

Years later, at a café, I saw you and my heart didn’t ache.

I haven’t written in a while. I stopped writing letters to you ages ago, they’re all in a locked drawer now. I should’ve burnt them, but I thought I could reuse them at some point. Remember the pain I felt so see how far I’ve come. Surviving you was the run of my life.

I graduated, and I heard you did too. I saw it in the newspaper, or maybe it was on your Instagram account. I only checked it once, just to make sure you were alright. I found a job, one I like, and met my husband. He’s the only man I loved after you. I had a kid, then another, and learned to be a mother.

I haven’t thought about you in a while, it’s been decades, really. I thought I’d never think of your shadow again but here you are, and I can’t believe my heart didn’t ache when I caught sight of you, that same figure and that same smile.

I think it brought me the closure I never found. We broke up silently, like an unspoken arrangement because your lips were occupied somewhere else. I made promises, hundreds of them. I often broke them but not this one. I survived you. I healed from you. 

You ordered a coffee and I got up from my chair. I don’t know why, I felt the urge to read at a café today. Maybe it was a sign, the last door of my past to close. I walked up to you, you’re a grown-up man too. I said ‘hey’ and you said ‘hi’ too. I asked how you were, I still don’t know why. You said you were divorced, not from her. 

I felt relieved and tried to hide it. You asked about my life, I told you everything. I told you about the letters, about the crushing pain, about Kyle, about my mistakes, and my promises. I held onto that promise of surviving like I once held onto you. I said ‘it worked.’ I said ‘I’m alright now, healed and happy.’

You said ‘I’m happy for you,’ and I’m afraid you meant it.