Dear Savannah,
You'll love a boy and everything will be right.
You'll love a musician and suddenly the world will be alight with symphonies.
You'll love an artist and you'll see colors you don't know the names of.
You'll love a boy and, with a great sigh of relief, you'll stop fretting about the future, so long as his fingers are curled around yours.
And then, little one, as always, you'll find yourself alone. Much, much more alone than you will have felt in a great deal of time.
Oh, and you'll sense it. He'll grow distant, he'll draw back. He'll leave on trips and his schedule will fill up and you will find yourself grasping onto the loose threads of his clothes.
You'll sense it in his kisses. In the lack of his touches.
You'll sense when you have to text him first.
And everyone will tell you that you're imagining it. That he adores you, and that he's only got a lot on his mind.
But you, little one, with your heart well-trained in the art of knowing when someone has had enough of you, will know better. And despite their words, and in spite of that wishful, blind optimism you have crouching in your chest, you'll already be paving those walls back up.
I have nothing for you here but apologies, my dear Savannah. I apologize that two and a half months is the longest relationship you'll get to boast about. I apologize that you'll brag to people about your handsome pianist boyfriend two days before he'll tell you that he doesn't want to do this anymore.
I'm sorry that you won't get a Valentine's day, or a Halloween, or a Christmas with him. I'm sorry that you'll buy tickets to see his favorite show for your one year anniversary and won't even make it to the three month mark.
I'm sorry that you're not the kind of girl to fight for what you want. I'm sorry that you'll let him go as soon as he asks to talk about your relationship. I'm sorry that you will rebel so hard against the idea of guilting him into staying with you that all you'll be able to choke out is "It's okay. I understand. I understand."
I'm sorry that you feel like such a burden that the idea of asking him to reconsider makes you want to vomit.
I'm sorry that it's easier to understand the idea of someone not wanting to be with you than for them to want to stay. I'm sorry that you won't even ask for answers because deep down you already know why.
I'm sorry for the inevitable "plenty of fish in the sea" and "it's better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all" spiels you're bound to be inundated with.
I'm sorry that this will be the tipping point in which you really start to consider if there is something inherently wrong with you.
But most of all, I am most sorry that you will be given the taste of love after a long, painful year of becoming content with loneliness, only to have to rebuild your walls all over again.
You'll wonder how in the hell you had managed to let someone get that close to your heart, after you vowed to never let it happen again. Oh, little one, how many times can you rebuild your heart? What will be left of it next time, now that so many pieces have been taken away? It doesn't even look much like a heart anymore. How much longer can you possibly keep this up?
Little girl, please, build your walls even higher. Reinforce them with steel and apprehension. Let no one scale those bricks again. Shoot down intruders. Hold the drawbridge. No one gets in. No one gets out.
Please, little girl, don't let this happen again. I don't know that you can recover from another heartbreak.
Don't fight for it. Don't cling to the threads of his clothing. Don't hold your breath for him to call and tell you he was wrong, that he still wants to be with you, that he was just stressed and wasn't thinking clearly.
Savannah, he left because he didn't want you anymore. There's no point in fighting for something that was never there.
Savannah, I'm sorry you will fall in love, and he will not. I'm sorry that you only know the feeling of being cast aside, and never the feeling of scooped back up. I'm sorry that he will still be the kindest, loveliest boy you will have ever met. I'm sorry you don't get to be angry at him.
I'm sorry that you don't get an "I love you", or an "I was wrong". I'm sorry that you'll watch the greatest feeling you've ever felt slip through your fingers.
I'm sorry that you'll wonder what you did wrong.
I'm sorry.
I'm so, so sorry.
