Forever and Always

“I bend and bend until I break.”

Those words stuck with him. The first boy I loved was told that by the first girl he loved. I idolized them when we were friends, thinking that they really were perfect for each other. I was jealous of it until they fell apart. I had never had anything except hopeless dreams and fruitless crushes before that. And when he came to me to be mended, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. It was the first time someone had said “forever and always” and I believed it. And I believed in it with all of my heart for over a year. The first time he left was the first time I felt a pain in my chest and tears running endlessly down my face. My mom heard me crying out, she told me it’d be alright. Surely it was when he confessed his feelings the next morning. I was back to “forever and always” again. But it would later fall apart as first love so often does in it’s naivety and infancy. Someone else with the same sweet words found me but soon revealed that their true intention was to own me, not love me. I bent and broke. My first love found me again and ignited the fire that had died months before. “Forever and always”. The flame died out and we drifted apart, hurt but not lost like the first time. I was alright for awhile and other men had inspired the hopeless romantic in me, but in the end they would keep me at a distance. It made me bitter at first in my youthful desire for love but I would find that everything happens for a reason.

I found that my next “Forever and always” would be somewhat more tame. The pain I felt from harsh words and confusing nights would be heavy but not unbearable. I gave my all as I always do and I took him back each time, be it from another woman’s lips or a crippling argument on the ride home. Doubt grew in my stomach and left me with sleepless nights wondering “Why?”. When the roots took hold I finally said goodbye, sitting in this very spot as he was beside me. It became easier as the anger set it. I bent and I broke. Again I was picking up the pieces that I had morphed out of shape and snapped just to say I was a “good girl”. They would try to return again and leave me wondering: Why did you have to lose everything in order to change?

I don’t know how to be worth something unless I am lost.

This would be my life story.

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