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Ian was it for me. And he was gone in every sense of the word.
We agreed on a clean break, but I never agreed to stop loving him because that would be too much to ask of a woman who was finally using her heart for something other than pumping blood through a string of years filled with anxious days.
Though I knew I loved him before he left, I didn’t realize how deep it ran. I didn’t realize the extent of my love or how hard I would love him, or how much it would break me to lose his daily affection. I didn’t realize how his presence would linger in my house or how I would forever sleep on the opposite side of the bed waiting for him to return to his side.
My love hadn’t faded, my tears weren’t anything more than fresh reminders on recycle. The pain of losing him wasn’t lessening as the days and weeks passed, my insides only grew heavier with ache.
His presence and our relationship had restored my faith in the possibility of a different life other than just managing my disorder. His absence took that faith away when he left me with nothing but a house full of memories and days filled with longing. We’d only had a few months to love each other, but that love would have to be enough to last my lifetime. I understood Jasmine and her hesitance to move on. I understood her stubborn heart and crumbling morals. I understood the unending pain and the scars love could leave.
I finally understood, and I fucking hated it.
I grieved him with every breath.
“So, this is what a broken heart feels like, huh, girl?”
Disco began to cry again, the same sorrowful whimper that started months ago as I pulled her into my arms and cried with her. For a moment in time, I lived in a dream with a man who could read my thoughts, whose attention took me to unbelievable heights, whose touch set me on fire and filled me with hope. I had the love of a good man, the best of love stories.
I found the one person in the world who understood me and loved me wholly as I was.
Love stories aren’t always perfect. They can wreak havoc on the heart and distort the soul. I’d gotten lost in love and found the reality at the end of it where I lived in the truth.
Not all love stories come with happy endings.
Two Months later
I SAT ELLA’S COCOA DOWN on the wiry table at the park and took a sip of my coffee as she fed the birds the rest of her croissant. Once seated, she took a sip and commanded my attention with lifted hands.
Dad, you’re still sad.
I’m fine.
You’re lying.
I’m okay. How is school?
Please go. I’ll be okay. I miss her too.
I put up my hands and she covered them with hers.
“Dad,” she said. When it was just the two of us, she saved her voice for when she wanted to make her point. “You were happy with her.”
Her speech was close to perfect. Her structure still lacked a little, but I’d never been a prouder father. Her voice was a gift, as was she.
“You sound beautiful,” I said as she read my lips.
“I do not. I won’t ever sound good. But one day a man will love me like you love her. Do you want me to be without that man?”
I lifted my hands. No.
“Talk,” she commanded.
“No, I want you to have love.”
“And I want that for you. This is not the time to give up.” She swallowed and looked around us still a bit self-conscious from talking in public. “I’m going to the Washington program soon. You don’t need to be here anymore.”
I shook my head as she stomped her foot on the pavement. “Listen to me!
”
