with his soft, magical words ringing in my ears. We had been going out for nine months and five days (not that I had been counting). It doesn’t seem long, but it felt like an eternity. I had never been so happy. The day he kissed the other girl, he threw that all away. Thinking of everything that he told me, he said he would never leave or deceive me. Our love was gone . That returns me from the distant memory to the present like a slap in the face. “Please, I’m sorry” he says begging. I ask him to leave. He gets up from the couch to leave. Am I making a mistake? Maybe it can work out? I think and imagine his arms around me, hugging me, holding me tight. I couldn’t bear. The pain in my heart feels too strong to endure. I have to stop myself from calling, running after him. My cries turn into hysterics. I am angry. I feel so much pain, like I just got shot down, the bullets piercing through my soul. I feel so alone. For days I cried myself to sleep; in the morning when I woke up people asked me how I felt, but I lied convincingly because I did not want to reveal the fact that I was suffering. Even weeks after the breakup, I would jump up when I heard the phone ringing, thinking it was him. When I received a page or a voicemail, a chill of hope would run down my spine. One night, while I was going through my phone book, I came upon a picture of him and I, together, laughing. I looked at it for a few minutes and I asked the picture why, not expecting an answer, but some type of explanation. Slowly, I ripped the picture into small pieces like the shattered pieces of my heart and threw them out the window. I had so many unanswered questions. He was gone and, as I hurt, I wondered if he had ever really loved me. He was gone, and all that was left were some good and bad memories. My heart still cries out for him, but my mind warns me I must move on. Even though I can never put the picture back together, as ...
