I have two great loves.
D crashed my whole world in a bathroom when she was maybe 19 and I must have been 18.
"We’ve been seeing each other," she said to me. Our faces in the mirror looking at each other.
I nodded and left the bathroom. I was sure my face was shell shocked, people could see and the shrapnel fell on everyone.
They felt sorry for me. It was the first time I had felt something so severe and everything started moving in slow motion.
I cried for hours, I don’t even remember talking to people after that. But I did ask her the question, a safe 6-hour distance between us.
Why did you hurt me? Her answer never left me: because I am a bad person and nothing is sacred. We’ve been together ever since.
BK broke up with me on the worst day of my life.
I had never seen a man so mad and so cruel. I was 25 thrust into a stranger’s country.
I cannot even tell the barest of facts of what happened that night but I despaired and ran after him for 3 days.
Each day, a tearful phone call. Every hour, I was pained. I bought him a Halloween mask, a hopeful gesture that
he might forgive me for something I couldn’t even be sorry for. Battle-fatigued with no weapons,
only on the last terrible night did he say, I still love you. We have been careful ever since.
This is what loving furiously has taught me: you were never meant to be safe.
This is what loving continuously has taught me: endure, you have suffered worse than this.