Breathless

by Jennifer Niven

It’s funny how the bad things stay with you and the good things sometimes get lost.

Is this a defining moment for me? And if so, what will I do with all these pieces?

“He thinks I’m a series of boxes, and every time he opens one, there’s another one inside.”

A feeling of homesickness. Of not being wanted. Of being all alone in the world. On earth. In the universe. And everyone has someone, but I am just me. And at night they all go inside and lock the doors and turn on the lights and pull the curtains, but I can still see the light shining out of the windows. And I am outside, in the dark, alone.

And this, I know, is part of growing up. The part they don’t tell you. That you can find yourself suddenly in another room, one that looks nothing like the one you’re used to, and there’s no getting back—no matter how much you want to—because from now on there is only here, and the only thing to do is settle in and try to make sense of it and tell yourself that this is your life now.

I think about roles. How we all have them. How we all play them, whether we want to or not.

What makes someone stop loving you? One day there’s love; the next day there’s not. Where does it go? Something that lived and breathed like that—how can it just vanish as if it never really existed?

“It can get kind of nerve-racking when you realize how isolated you are from the actual world here. But all the scary stuff doesn’t really compare to getting lost in your own mind.”

I’ve stopped crying, but I can still feel it in my eyes and my nose and my entire body, as if the tears were blood, and now that they’re gone, I’m empty.

Here is me. All the messy, unattractive things that I keep locked up inside. Every last ugly, broken, complicated piece. And he didn’t bat an eye. He just opened his mouth and showed me some of his own messy pieces. And instead of running away, he kissed me.

I know in my bones that this is one of those deathbed moments, one I will always remember.

“Where do you think love goes when people stop loving you? Do you think there’s, like, a junkyard where all the lost and discarded love is collected?”

‘There are no ambitions noble enough to justify breaking someone’s heart.’

And then he kisses me, but it’s too late. I can feel it in my heart—a little death.