Dear, Shattered Heart
I just proposed to my girlfriend and she said ‘No.’
If you remember correctly, I gave you to her about four years ago, in pristine condition and ready to do what you’ve always done. Love. Well now I guess it’s just you and me again. Or what’s left of you.
What the FUCK do we do now?
It was one of those “out-of-body-experiences” a person never thinks will happen to them and it just happened to you. To me. To us. How long did it take the Titanic to sink in those icy Atlantic waters? Because it feels like that doomed ship just hit rock bottom in my belly. Didn’t you think we were going to be hers forever? Damn, there are pieces of you everywhere. I don’t know what to do. Sorry, but I’m not really sure when I can put you back together either. It’s going to take a while.
I’m not blind, nor am I delusional. I know we didn’t have a perfect relationship with her, but I truly thought love would conquer all, and that I had enough love for the both of us. (Wow, does that sound ridiculously delusional, or what?) We obviously had problems and let’s be honest, you had some cracks from what she had been doing to you for a while now. I don’t think she meant to chisel away at you with her sledgehammer of words and actions, but when it comes down to it, you didn’t deserve it. We didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it.
What I want to do right now is crawl into a ball and hide somewhere for a year or two. Then wake up, which is not a deal breaker, and have this feeling and everything else that goes with it, be extinct. That’s what I want to do. I really do. But I know I can’t, because you’re still going to be busted to shit when I get back from my emotional hibernation, and I’ll still have to put you back together at some point. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What do I do now?
You’re fucking destroyed beyond all recognition. So there’s nothing you can really do, especially without me. But me? I’m lost. I want to do the things I was going to happily sacrifice to be with her. My passions. My aspirations. I need to do what makes me happy. Instead of getting shat on at my job, working at one of the best kitchens in the world, with the chef making me feel like shit everyday. I’m going to quit. Instead of staying in the same city, a mere 3 miles from where she lives. I’m going to travel. I’m going to go to another country and cook in another top kitchen. Shit, I might even move to another country. I really might. I’m going to do all the things that allow me to be as creative as I want and can be. I’m going to take pictures. I’m going to write. Shit, I might even start a blog or something…yeah right.
I’ll work on putting you back together but there are no guarantees. I’ll write when I can.