Everyone has a story.Mine went like this: Once upon a time, I met a boy. He was the most handsome fella in the land. I fell in love. Together, we had cosmic chemistry. I believed I would live a life of unending bliss. Until he broke my heart. Shattered it to pieces. And I lived unhappily ever after instead. The end.
Or so I thought.
Life found a way to reunite us. But to change that unhappy ending, I had to learn how to forgive. And my heart seemed unable to do so.
This is a love story. But it is also, much more. It’s the story of how I coped with my shortcomings, my fears and rewrote my destiny. Everyone has a story. This is mine.
I watched her grow. From afar, with uninterested eyes, I watched her grow. She grew in beauty, talent, and grace.
Her mane of black hair flowed in cascades down her back like a tide of obscure water. Its darkness contrasted with her round, sharp eyes. Eyes that matched her stupid name, that matched the sky of an overcast day.
She appeared determined and brave. She kept a perfect GPA, and she lived a life beyond reproach.
She fooled those surrounding her with the pretense of perfection, of goodness. She didn’t fool me. I was the only one who looked at her with sober eyes and saw beyond the façade.
Until then, whatever she wanted, she had gotten. I had to put a stop to the life she had forged through lies. I was the vessel through which she would be deterred.
I resented her for being so assertive. So successful. So deceitful. She should be nothing. Have nothing. She must have been dead.
Yet, she breathed. The heart within her ribcage thumped in vindictive triumph. She lived, ruining my plans, stealing my joy. Trying to take away my happiness, and all that belonged to me.
But I was stronger than she was. Better at the game of life. I would be the winner. I had weapons she didn’t possess. Discipline, foresight, shrewdness. Most importantly, I had one crucial advantage: she had no knowledge of my existence.
I have found that there is only one thing better than reading, and that is writing. I am always torn between the two. I am also frequently torn between chocolate and coffee. However, I emphatically do not like the month of February, lies, and flies. For me, bravery is defined by the courage to do what we fear the most. I live in Connecticut with my husband and two children. Drop a few lines. I would love to hear from you.