Today is Valentine's Day and I figured that if you felt any remorse over ripping my heart out of my chest last month that today would be the day for you to make it known to me. I figured wrong. No surprise there. I usually do.

first post breakup date.

He was nice. And cute. And funny. All of the things that you were on our first date. He and I have more in common than you and I ever did. We have mutual friends and he likes that same music and movies and T.V. shows as I do. I really liked his beard. He's older than you and has a good job. He and I seem like we would be a good match. The only problem is that he is not you.

On my way home I drove past that Thai place we talked about trying. I let the tears fall quietly down my face. 

"I wanted it to work so badly." 
No. You didn't. If you wanted it to work, you would have made it work. 

breakups & social media.

I told you that I was a firm believer in clean breaks which is why right after you broke my heart I deleted your number and all the messages you had ever sent to me. I unfriended you on instagram and snapchat (which you didn't even have before we met). Facebook, however, is still there.

Soon after the break up you set your profile picture to a picture that you knew i loved because it was the background of my phone the whole time we were dating.

Yesterday your mom posted a video of you playing the drums. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe.

I never imagined that I'd fall in love with you and now I do everything within my power to forget I ever did. You came into my life like a raindrop on a sunny day, unexpected but refreshing. You left it like the setting sun, the falling darkness painfully predictable.

We sat in your car outside my parent’s house and even though it had only been 6 weeks I felt as though I might explode if I kept my love for you inside me.  I handed you my heart and you took it. You looked it over much like a little brother looks at a functional pair of socks given to him on Christmas morning. You turned it over in your hands, trying to comprehend its value.  “Thank you,” you finally replied out of obligation, much like the little brother.  I hoped that you would give me your heart in return, but instead you did just as I knew you would and kept it for yourself. You kept mine for exactly a month and then in the same car, in the same parking lot where you first kissed me, you took my heart out of your pocket and held it up in front of my face. It made me wish immediately that I would have kept it for myself, I hated Brene Brown for convincing me to be vulnerable. You talked about why you wanted to accept my gift but couldn’t bring yourself to then you ripped it right down the middle. “No hard feelings,” you said as you handed the pieces back to me. I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement so I nodded, holding back my tears. You were right though, if it was a statement and if it was a question the answer is no, there are no hard feelings, no bitterness or resentment, no hostility or anger. Just understanding. Understanding that receiving a heart is a massive responsibility. A heart has to be cared for and nurtured. You have to take it everywhere you go and protect it fiercely. Holding a heart is a responsibility too vast for a twenty-one-year-old little boy to undertake. So even though accepting returns is generally against my policy and although you returned my heart without a receipt I’ll take it back because I need someone who is ready for the responsibility of holding it.