places I’ve cried

In a Chick-fil-A dining room, at a frat party, in Cleveland, on the 405 (while listening to space cowboy), on the 395 (while listening to betty), on a flight to Taiwan, on a flight to Hawaii, at the corner of 83rd & Loyola, in the parking lot across from benny’s, in the basement of a convent in Spain, while washing dishes in a coffee shop in Pasadena, alone in my car while parked in the mountains, while laying on the floor of a study room, in a boy’s arms, while hanging in a hammock in a library in Guyana, in a walk in freezer, at the loft, during senior wills (every year), at Pepperdine, in a random hotel in Glendale, in the pool at Playa del Oro, after I watched a video of a boy playing beer die, in my kitchen after mass, at the Jonas Brothers’ concert, to his parent’s at their rental house, at an airbnb in Tahoe, in a few Ubers, after I got home from date night, at the US/Mexico boarder, in my old driveway in Westchester, in a bathroom in Paris, in the sorority & fraternity life office, while at mass in Barcelona, in a stranger’s apartment, at the Anaheim Convention Center, at a California Pizza Kitchen in Long Beach, at my parent’s house, while watching Dear Zachary, in a cave, at an orphanage in Cambodia, on my roof, while Heather was praying at Cornerstone Church Westchester, at The Well, in an airstream in Arizona, etc. The list continues.

How Lucky

It’s hard to explain how much it hurts when the first boy you ever loved calls you & pours his heart onto you. When he tells you how he can’t stop thinking about how beautifully you loved him, how it’s all he can find himself thinking about sometimes. How even though it has been a long time since you were together, he still thinks it’s you.

It's hard to explain the hurt that washes over you while you’re sitting on the same bed he used to hold you, with your phone up to your ear, listening to him tell you how badly he wants your love back & how he’s never truly stopped loving you. How he thinks you’re special, how he thinks you’re the one.

It’s hard to explain because it feels like it should be a beautiful moment.

Hearing about the way someone loves you is such a particular type of grace. It's alluring when someone reaches their heart out to you & explains how no one has loved them quite like you have. To be recognized as someone gracious, passionate, & distinct in that way is humbling—it’s an honor to be loved for your love. It should be a beautiful moment.

But it was not. It hurt. & it’s hard to come to terms with that because the hurt does not lie within the words he’s speaking or the times he’s missing. The hurt does not lie in your moments of mutual love & the life you used to share. The hurt does not exist in the memories that come flooding back—memories of the happiness & bliss you once experienced with that person.

My hurt is not with him at all.

All my hurt is with the people I have loved since our love expired. The few who did not love me back or did not give me the chance to fully love them. All my hurt falls into my half-loves—the ones you meet & can see the adventure ahead of you, but never get there. The ones you love in secret. The ones who’ve held you, but you were only water in their hands.

The boy who wants me to love him again doesn’t bother me, to be honest, I rarely think of him at all. But the boys who I wanted to love, but I couldn’t convince to let me try, do.

I couldn’t help but think about all the times I’ve heard “you are my everything” or “you are so special to me” from a boy who told me he was just my friend, but didn’t treat me that way. The boys who hold your hand under the dinner table & sometimes kiss you goodnight, but don’t care much more than that. The boys who call & say they miss you but don’t tell you when they’re in town. All the boys who make you feel like your love is almost enough but yet it still comes up short.

When we were on the phone, I could feel the pain start digging towards the very bottom of my heart & in turn, displacing all those old feelings of “just let me love you” & “why don’t we just try this for real”. My hurt wasn’t sharp & it didn’t stab, it’s one I’ve kinda just carried with me throughout the days since then. The “my heart just feels heavy today” kind of hurt, the hurt I can’t just put a bandaid on & forget about. The type of pain you sit with wondering when it will pass or if it ever will. You just keep hoping it will.

I could hear his words, but I was not thinking of him, or us, at all. I, instead, found myself sitting with a pain I had never known before, yet it still felt oddly familiar. Like when you go somewhere new, but you feel like you’ve been there before. Or when you meet someone & immediately feel like you’ve known them forever. Like when you’re in front of someone you love, but you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t. A deep comfort hand-in-hand with a devastating uncertainty.

I found myself sitting on my bed, wishing I was somewhere else, but having nowhere to go. No one to run to. So I just sat with my phone up to my ear in a slow misery of lovelessness. Feeling almost-lovable, but not quite. I know it's possible because I’ve felt it before & a boy is admitting to me that he does, but it still feels so far away I can't really picture it anymore. Knowing everything & nothing all at once. Old feelings start flooding back, but none of the old feelings I ever thought I’d have to face again.

& this strange pain almost affirms those small, yet invasive thoughts through all the heartbreaking moments I spent in the space between friendship & something more with the boys who turned out to be lessons & nothing more. Those selfish, broken thoughts of “no one will love you quite like I could have” & “you won’t find another me”. Feelings I have felt, but don’t articulate because, in the back of my head, I know they’ll find someone better for them—someone who isn’t me.

But even though I’ve never acknowledged those thoughts, they came back like tidal waves & all I could do was try not to let myself drown in them when the boy I used to love called me & said everything I've ever wanted to hear.

As much as my heart can love his words, I don’t want those feelings. I don’t want to believe that my love is different—that my love is distinct. I don’t want to believe that my half-loves lost something when they lost me, I just want to trust God’s plan for my life moving forward. To, like I said, learn lessons from them with nothing more, to accept that I only got to love them for the heartbreak. Just like it was meant to, I guess. I don’t want to sit here thinking about all the ways I could have loved them, I don’t want the flashbacks to coffee dates & dancing at formals. Honestly, I don’t even want the “how have you been” texts. I just wish my love was enough. I just wish I could have loved them & since I couldn’t, I just want to move on.

All I've ever wanted was a boy to call me & beg me for my love again; a dramatic declaration that creates the space for a new chapter, a new beginning. But I sat on the other end of the phone & couldn't stop thinking about how badly I wished that call & that declaration was from someone else. I couldn’t tell what was worse—telling someone you don’t love them back or suddenly not only being unable to stop thinking about the boy who doesn’t love you back, but every other boy who didn’t love you back. Realizing you need to say the words being spoken to you to someone else, even if you’re sure you’ll receive the same response you’re giving.

Ultimately, I thought about the boys I didn’t let myself love because I didn’t want to find myself in a position where I offered someone my heart who didn’t want it. I didn’t want to admit to myself, or anyone else, that my feelings were bigger than I wanted them to be.

It feels unfair when someone calls you out of the blue & tells you how they feel, but it also feels unfair having big feelings you’ve desperately tried to stop having.

I do not love the boy I used to & I know I never will. Instead, I think I’ll just continue to sit on my bed, wondering when I will feel that mutual, shared love again.

I don’t think I ever realized how lucky you have to be to fall in love with someone who not only loves you back but at the exact same time & in the exact same way.

So here’s to my half-loves: there’s a part of me waiting for your call.

waiting for summer to end

I really have no idea if anyone else feels this way, but summer always feels like an alternate reality to me. The only thing I do every summer is patiently wait for myself to slowly turn into myself again.

I was recently reflecting on where I’ve been & how my life has changed since the first summer of my twenties, two years ago.

When I was younger, I spent a lot of my time actively trying to convince people I was cooler, happier, & prettier than I actually felt. I remember posting on all my social media platforms...a lot...trying to perfectly curate the exact life I wanted people to think I had & show others something I wanted to believe myself—that I was worthy of their time. While posting on social media isn’t inherently bad, I was going about it in a super unhealthy way. All my posts were an attempt at creating a life other people would want to see & be a part of. & as much as it sucks to admit it, a big part of me wanted specific people to take notice of what I was doing. What I was posting wasn’t genuine, accurate to my life, or necessary. I think deep down I just wanted to be missed by everyone I found myself missing.

I am here today to tell you that before we are anything else, we are all people who struggle, have bad days, & are absolutely far from perfect. No matter how pretty an Instagram is, I always remind myself that these little squares are not reality & sometimes people post beautiful pictures because they don’t feel beautiful in that moment & just want your validation. There’s nothing that makes me more uncomfortable than when people tell me how photogenic or perfect my life is. Trust me, it is not. At all.

Admittedly, my relationship with social media is much different now & I don’t really care what other people think of me. I post what I want to & when I want to. Life is too short to get fixated on things that don’t matter. Does anything?