Something Just Cracked; Is That Your Heart?

The heartbroken’s entry

Credit: pexels.com

“Maybe it’s something I said or did. I messed up, right? No, he did! He’s to blame, not me. He chose someone else, how’s that my fault? Maybe I actually didn’t try enough. Maybe I don’t deserve love.”

There goes the regular back-and-forth conversation in your head. You’re wondering why, a lot of “whys” actually. Why did you meet in the first place? Why did this happen to you? Why did he do this to you? You’d most probably not get these answers, but you’ll ask anyway. You will spend days or even weeks replaying the scenarios in your head, trying to pinpoint when it started going bad and hoping that you could change it.

You’d want to convince yourself that you’re not hurt, so you’ll leave his number saved, even with the nickname you used to call him and the heart emoji. Your friends and those who knew you guys were dating will check on you, and you’ll say, “Oh, I’m even busy at work. I no get time to dey think about man abeg.” Yet, every time he posts on his status and you silently whisper, “Nobody will know that he’s a stupid man o!” You’d look around you quickly to be sure that nobody else heard your flimsy attempt to whisper. That’s when you’ll remember that you taught your students in Sunday School class last week to not insult people, so you’ll quickly chant, “God, forgive me,” about twelve times. You’ll eventually lose track of the number of times you’d insult him after that, but you’ll console yourself and ask Jesus to understand. After all, they just served you breakfast.

The last time you archived his chat, you kept checking your archives every few minutes to see if he had texted you and guess what? The heartbreaker actually did! There are two ways this could go: You either type in block letters and say, “YOU DON’T GET TO CHECK ON ME ANYMORE. YOU LOST THAT RIGHT. CHECK ON YOURSELF, YOU WICKED BASTARD.” Or because you’re still head over heels for him and the calm person you are, you’d say, “Hey, thanks. Hope you’re great too?” This is after you had deleted and retyped about twelve times because you didn’t want to seem too vulnerable or too angry. You wanted to seem indifferent as per the hard girl that you are.

If you’re like me, you’d do both. The catch is that you’d do one in your head and the other to him. Heartbroken and hurt, yet calm and loving. How could someone cause you so much hurt?

You’re watching a movie at 11:50 pm because you can’t sleep. The main character just met a new man. They are just talking, but you can already sense the chemistry. The hurt you would say, “Don’t listen to him. That’s how they always do.” A few scenes later, you’d hear her say that she loves him and you’ll click your screen shut in annoyance. How can the thing you thought would distract you from your emotions remind you of them? Take it easy with the laptop, please; it’s not the one that hurt you.

Tomorrow, just after work, you’d be curious about how the movie ends. Would it end like your previous relationships or there’d be a happy ending? The main character actually ends up heartbroken. So you’d go to your WhatsApp status and type something like “I just watched a sad movie and omg! Men are scum, abeg, both in movies and in real life. How could he do that to her? I’m so pained.” Meanwhile, what you want to type is “How could you do this to me?” You had previously restricted him from viewing your status, but you’d allow him to view this one so he can catch his sub. Sorry. You could have just left the movie uncompleted. Curiosity killed the cat, or in this case, curiosity ruined your night. Oops. So you’d post the last update for the night: “My Queens, jazz up. Stay away from love o.”

It’s Sunday and you’re one of the first few in church. You attended the first service so that people you know won’t get to see you today. The choir are singing heartfelt worship songs, so you’re quite emotional. It begins with the cute teardrops, the ones you wipe off every few seconds. A few minutes later, you’re ugly-crying; you no longer care if the videographer focuses his device on you. If only people knew you were crying because of what “the one whose name must not be mentioned” did to you and not the worship.

They are preaching about godly relationships in the church today, but how can you apply what you’re learning when you don’t even have a relationship. You are lost in thoughts, but then you bring yourself back. Wrong timing! The man three seats away from you just held hands with his wife. Eish. Will you ever get away from this “tension-ing” of a thing?

Days have passed since you heard from him, but he suddenly texts you the next Saturday to ask if you can talk over a drink at your usual spot. You want to ask what nonsense he has to say, but you’d endure anything to see his face and hear his voice again. You’re hoping he apologizes, but he never does. You’d be unable to meet his gaze. The eyes that once felt like home are now somewhat torturous to look into. No apology or explanation, at least, not one that sounds sensible to you. Omo, closure is a bastard o. Scam!

It’s exactly six months today. You know that because it’s not easy to forget the day your life seemed to fall apart.

You still feel the pang in your heart when you see someone that bears the same name as him or the girl he chose instead of you. You still close your eyes tightly to stop the tears when someone around you uses a similar perfume to his. And every time he texts you to check up on you, you smile so you don’t cry. You take a deep breath and respond like it’s an email from work while wishing that the entire thing never happened. And then, just after you leave your phone, you ask again, “Will I ever heal? Will I find true love? Na so I go dey lonely forever?”

Yes, my darling. You’ll heal. You will find true love. Or maybe you won’t, who knows?

Love from yours,

The ranter-in-chief.

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Olamide 'Pearl' Makinde

Olamide 'Pearl' Makinde

I kinda just like to rant here + I write tech stuff sometimes. I love hearing my readers’ thoughts; we can have a convo in the comment section, twitter, or IG.