final paper

The Break Up.

“I don’t think this is gonna work,” he said as his eyes trailed off into the distance somewhere just past my head. “I just don’t feel it like I did before, and I don’t want to play you and stay in this relationship, so I think we should just be friends.”
Just be friends?? Just be friends?? How can he possibly say that? Of course we can’t just be friends! I love you! My mind was racing; I didn’t know what to say to that. He seemed so calm, no emotion whatsoever. There wasn’t a tear in his eye, not even a shimmer of guilt or sympathy. I immediately figured he’d been cheating on me, but I wasn’t completely sure. So I asked.
“Are you cheating on me?” I just kind of blurted it out.
He looked around some more, looked me in the eye, and looked away once more, just staring into the distance. He mumbled a reply, “No. I ain’t like that.” However, I’m not dumb. I turned around to see what he was staring at with such passion.
My heart sank. I looked directly behind me, expecting to see his mom or brother or something. It wasn’t his mom. It was Natalie Johns, my worst enemy. We have never agreed on anything. We’ve been arguing about every little thing in life since pre-school. And now my boyfriend is checking her out? No. This can’t be happening. It’s not happening. It’s not. He loves me, not her. He knows I hate her, he’d never do something like that too me.
“Hey look, I gotta go. I’ll see you around?” He said in a hurry pushing me aside to make his way over to Natalie.
“Yeah sure. I guess. Whatever,” that was all I could say. There was obviously something in what I said to him because he turned back around so he was facing me. He bent down a little, just enough to give me a small kiss on the cheek. And then he danced off over to his new love. I didn’t know what to do. I stood there; in the exact spot in which he gave me the last kiss he’d ever give me for about five whole minutes. I just stood there, like a complete loaner; a pathetic loser who’d just been dumped. He was my first boyfriend. How could he break my heart like that? So many questions rushing through my head, just waiting for answers. It took me about another five minutes to convince myself he was gone and to convince my mind that all those questions are just going to have to disappear because there’s no way of ever getting them answered now that it’s over.
Later that night…
“Ally, it’s fine. He’s just a jerk don’t even worry about him. If he could be mean enough to break up with you for HER, he’s not worth all this trouble,” my best friend, Beth said to me that night on the phone.
“Beth, I want to just forget this, but he was my first boyfriend. I don’t even think you understand how much this hurts,” that was the last straw. I couldn’t hold it in anymore; I just burst out in tears and said everything. Some of what I said didn’t make sense at all, but that didn’t matter. Beth listened to me anyway. She listened to me blabber on and on about how he hurt me, how I want him back, and how I’m glad he’s gone. Contradicting myself throughout the entire conversation I was having with myself, Beth listened and gave me good advice. It’s not like I remembered any of the stuff she told me to do because I was so upset, but it meant something that she was trying.
We talked the rest of the night. After about three hours on the phone, Beth’s mom told her she had to get off, but I still needed her to listen to me, so she came over. We sat in my bed talking and crying about guys, school, parents, and life in general. It felt really good to get everything out, and to just cry about it. Crying may sound a little wimpy, but believe me it really does help. It relieves a lot of stress and just feels really good. We stayed up all night, not one minute of sleep. We ate chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate. It’s true when people say chocolate is the cure for broken hearts, it healed my heart for the night, but the very next day when I saw him at school, it fell apart again like a wet band-aid falls off a knee.
Walking down the hall, heading toward my locker, minding my own business, not looking anyone in the eye just to be careful not to accidentally meet eyes with him. I got to my locker, and I looked up once to spin the dial of doom to unlock my locker. Grabbing the last book I needed for the rest of the day, I slammed my locker shut and put the lock back on. I turned to my right and BAM! There he was, standing right in front of me, just starring me in the eye, looking deep into me, trying to read my mind.
“Hey, um, can we talk?” was all he had to say.
I couldn’t think of anything to say; nothing at all. NO! No we can’t talk! What are you thinking? Are you crazy! You broke my heart yesterday, and now you want to talk! “No,” that’s all that would come out. Everything I wanted to say just wouldn’t leave my thoughts. It stayed in there forever, until that night when I got home.
I can’t believe him. I can’t believe he has the guts to try and talk to me the very day after he completely breaks my heart. What a jerk! Normally, when I’m hurt, I write. I write everything I feel and everything I want to say but can’t. I write it all into a journal and read it about a week later. After this process, I am able to read it and laugh about everything.
When I got home that night I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling through my tears for about an hour. Once I realized it’d be quite some time before I was going to be able to stop crying, I pulled out my journal and grabbed the nearest pen. I pulled off the cap and slammed the tip of the pen onto the paper. After that, I just kept going. I couldn’t stop writing. I wrote about everything and about three pages in, I paused and noticed I had stopped crying. Writing solves all of my issues. I don’t know why, but it always makes me forget about whatever I’m writing. I don’t know how that works because I’m still very passionate about what I write, however, I still forget about everything that’s going on.
Pressing the ink down onto the paper one last time to continue my story, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t finish. My heart was somewhere else. A song. A song would be a perfect way for me to forget about everything. I put both earphones in my ears and blasted a bunch of slow love songs. Although I listened to about fifty different songs, none of them seemed to fit my emotions. Gosh darn it. I wish I could just write my own. It was right then that the thought of writing a song came to my mind. I turned to a new page in my book and began to write the lyrics to the story of my broken heart.