If I was writing about a broken heart, I'd start with yours.
Your story involves mine because it breaks mine, but not for the reasons I thought before. You see, all day I think of you, and all day I want to cry. I thought this was about me. I was wrong. I wanted to say that what I thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at my heart. It was your heart that shattered though.
I was hurt--broken--too, until I knew your story. You see, that day you held my hand, that's when I fell for you. It's the day I still look back on when I want to be filled with joy and feel like I'm loved. For a while the memory also brought with it an ache, a dull slice across my heart. I admit, sometimes it still does. You were happy. I was happy. For me it was the first time in months that I had smiled so much. I know now you were starting to hurt then. I wish I had known. Then again, maybe that would've ruined it.
"Holding hands, feeding ducks. When I met you, that's what I wanted to do."
From the first day I knew you, I knew you were special. I didn't know you were like me, hiding your pain behind playful antics or somber wallflower acts. I thought you knew where you were, who you were, and what you wanted, nothing more. How could someone like you hurt? Your spirit was so lively to me. You helped me find my heart again, back on those swings. I didn't know it was hiding until then. I didn't know I was looking for it. I didn't know I was so blind.
Even when you lied to me, I still loved you. I didn't know then why the betrayal hurt so much, but now I think I do. I think it was because my hope was dashed a bit. Hope I'd had subconsciously that you wouldn't be like the rest. That betrayal wouldn't happen. Even when you lied, I learned to still be okay when it was over. Of course, I didn't know I loved you until after I was angry with you.
I once was blind, but now I see.
I see now, I see that I was blind. I wanted to know you before, but that desire was blinded by the stronger desire to be known by someone like you. I wish I could've been a better friend to you. I wish I could pretend that perhaps my life helped to distract you from yours, but I don't really know. I hope I did a mite better than I think I did.
I see now that you have been in pain for some time now, even when you were hurting me. I was so blinded by my own supposed agonies that I didn't touch yours. How could you feel whole when your world is falling down in threes? When what you really want doesn't seem to want you? I see now that what you thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at your heart. Your gun wasn't even loaded when you aimed it at me. The pain I felt was self-inflicted.
Can you forgive me? Will you?
I don't think you know any of this. I am loathe to be more than a coward and actually tell you to your face. I wish I was braver.
I wish I could tell you what you are to me. A rainbow on a rotten day--a promise--wouldn't say enough to do you justice. Flowers blooming everywhere--but only in my mind. My heart erupting with light--which sounds a bit fatal, if you think about it. Your smile can make my soul soar and make me feel safter than being in the Bat Cave. I am absolutely petrified of the ocean, but I'd go in with you. But it's positively more than any of this! Those things are mere fragments of what I could say for you! The way you light up the lives of others, those around you, by simply being constant and wanting to be around them. The fact that you notice little things, that you live simply. That you are witty, clever, and quite the goon. You want to help others in a way that isn't necessarily noticed by everyone and their mother on national news. You listen. You care.
I guess I could keep gushing like a heartsick buffoon, but the time has come for me to say this: in this pain you are going through, I know He has you. I sometimes think I could reach out, take the pieces of your heart and mend them, but I can't do that as well as He. I talk to Him about you when I feel like crying. These days I'm crying for you. I know what it's like to feel pain and not know how to fix it. I know what it's like when all you want to do is hide from it and everyone else. He knows. He is a comforter and a friend. He wants you to know you are loved, always. That's something that's hard for me to grasp, too.
We're in this together, whether you like it or not. We'll know we're Loved or die trying.
I suppose it's true when they say love blinds you--a version of it does, yes, and in certain ways. Sometimes love is purely emotional and selfish. When His love light can finally break through that muck you've carved around you--that blinding light you thought was love--you'll really see. He's there and you're there and that's all that matters. Then you can see others--His light isn't blinding. I pray His love will shine through me ever brighter in the days to come, especially when it comes to you, my friend.
We'll see the lights coming off of us, illuminating what we really are--loved.
I once thought I'd be writing about my broken heart, broken over a silly thing like you. Now I see, though, that it's your heart that really needs the mending. Mine was just bent a little out of shape. You're a hero, I was a fool. Good thing there's grace for that too.
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