It was over exaggerating our across-the-border relationship. It was finding time after the church service to share genuine kisses. It was taking time once a week to get to your place, or for you to get to mine. It was listening to your younger sister tease us. It was us thinking she didn’t understand love when really we didn’t, either. It was putting on a movie and never watching it. It was devoting our lives to being as corny as possible: it was kisses in the rain, planning trips to Paris, sharing songs. It was walking six out of seven days of the week alone, listening to lyrics that illustrated our love so I wouldn’t feel so alone. It was rushing to get out of class to message you. It was staying on the phone till 1 a.m. when I was forced to say goodbye. It was you not understanding my Canadian life. It was me being curious about your American world. It was being the mystery girlfriend to your friends. It was you being the “one in a million” for me.
Now it’s trying to kiss another without thinking about you. It’s hearing songs I used to listen to and having to change it. It’s laying in bed when I have anxiety and pretending you’re there to hold my hand, because it’s the only thing in the world that could comfort me. It’s hearing about your family and their success. It’s me wanting to be there to cheer them on. It’s remembering all the things you said and wondering if they were all lies. It’s the memory of seeing your new girlfriend for the first time and thinking she can’t be better than me, you can’t love her as much as you loved me. It’s wanting everything back. It’s knowing I gave it all up for nothing. It’s regret. It’s hurt. It’s something that was supposed to “get better” a long time ago.