old clothes

last wednesday i broke up with a boy i’d been seeing on and off for over a year. i’d been dreading that moment for months, because deep inside i knew the end was coming. i just didn’t know how or when it was going to finally happen.

i was dreading that moment because:

  1. i really really liked this guy and the unique dynamic we had going
  2. it was one of the last “ties” i had to my “pre-european adventure” self

that sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but i’m a sentimental person. i was scared to end things with him because that would mean i’d finally have to tilt my head up and face reality — that i’m getting older and college is almost ending and things don’t look quite as pretty in the light and that not every boy you kiss will love you the same way you loved him. every day i curse the fact that my mother gave me too big of a heart that keeps getting me into trouble.

and so i slipped on the all too familiar sweater of breaking up. i retreated into the refuge of my bed, my eyes bloodshot and my head too heavy to lift off the pillow. i say that heights are one of my biggest fears, but i’m more afraid about ending up alone.

when i saw him for the first time since coming back from my year in europe, it felt like i was a changed person — with all these stories and experiences and new appreciations — while he stayed exactly the same. it’s like when you step back into your childhood bedroom and find your old favorite t-shirt that doesn’t quite fit anymore. you wish it’d fit, but it’s moth eaten and old and stretched out in all the wrong places.

when reality hits that it’s time to move on and leave someone behind, that’s when the fear sets in.
i went to a house show last night on the other side of town, where a band played off tune jazz music in the living room of a huge home. my eye caught on two sharp blue eyes near the door.

i know those eyes.

i wracked my mind to figure out how on earth i knew him, and then it clicked. it was someone i’d slept with three years ago.

three years ago.

holy shit, talk about ill-fitting clothing. i spent the rest of my time there debating whether i’d go up and introduce myself — for the second time.

i’ve come so far since freshman year, from dealing with depression (and now anxiety), to confronting my identity, to fostering a love for my studies, to practicing self love, to hitting rock bottom, to rescuing myself, to going on the greatest adventure of my life, and now being able to look back.

part of me is terrified because the hills and valleys i’ve experienced up to this point are nothing compared to the mountains and canyons that i have coming up next, but i guess half the fun is not knowing, right?



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