I’d been noticing the signs for weeks – red flags that I turned a blind eye to, in the hope that it was bigger than us. He was really stressed about swimming, I was putting too much pressure on him to visit me at school, classes were getting really tough at the end of freshman year, and he had that academic scholarship to keep. But we were in looooove so there was no way we were breaking up. Right? Right.
It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever been through. E. became a fixture in my life. When I spoke to my parents on the phone in my first year of college they’d ask how I was doing and then, “How’s E.?” His pictures were on my walls, his clothes in my dresser, his scent on my pillows. And then all of a sudden he decided he didn’t love me anymore. It should’ve been painful for a few months, and it was, but the sting lingered. Lingers, I guess.
Part of me sees the end of J. before I can even get past the beginning. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the, “Maybe we should just be friends” speech even though I’m getting the, “I really like you” speeches instead. There is very little to lead me to believe that it’ll end anytime soon. And yet there is a tiny, nagging sting deep in the pit of my stomach that reminds me of how the higher the climb, the harder the fall.