Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she.

I know you’ll fall in love again and walk down that aisle someday. I know you’ll find someone who sees the scariest, darkest parts of you and loves the shit out of you anyway. Someone who presses your buttons, gets under your skin, makes you crazy in all the best ways. Someone who makes you feel so alive, you can’t imagine going back to the shell of a human you were before you met them. Someone who sees you, really sees you, stripped down and raw, and wants to collect all your broken pieces and cherish them like they are something beautiful.”

home isn’t a place—it’s a feeling.

“Every love story is worth writing, no matter how messy it might be,” Holly says absently, still stroking my hair. “I would like to read your book.”

You can’t tiptoe around your heart in fear of pissing people off or hurting their feelings. Sometimes we need to be a little selfish in order to avoid a life of complacency.”

“I wish you fought for me as hard as you fought to get out of that basement.”

love doesn’t exist without sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are waking up ten minutes early to make your partner coffee. Sometimes it’s taking on a second job to support your family. Sometimes it’s staying up all night with a newborn so your significant other can finally sleep. Sometimes it’s shoveling the other person’s car out of the driveway after a snowstorm.” She places her palm against my wet cheek and smiles softly. “And sometimes it’s making the ultimate sacrifice and walking away for the greater good.”

Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark. And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.

There’s no shame in the struggle, but you can’t stay there forever.

We can’t give our heart to another without loving our own first.

“How many books are you bringing?” “Five.” “Jesus…” I huff. “It’s a series, Dean.”