She’d cut her hair, dyed it, and bought new clothes. She’d found safety in the arms of friends, comfort hidden under her sheets every night that she cried. She’d tried to cover it, tried to appear fine in an attempt to reinvent herself. Because when you get dumped, that’s the only choice open to you: starting over.

It was not the smoothest break-up, not at all expected on her behalf. Had come in one of the most immature, obnoxious, ways imaginable. Had come at an unfortunate time, been followed days later by cruel words thrown at her. When put into consideration, it was all for the better, and she should be glad. But love is stupid, love is stubborn…love just enhanced already-dominant traits in her personality.

She’d thought it would work this time. She’d thought that this time he would take her back, and love her the way he never did the last time. Assumed that he’d grown up enough to appreciate her feelings, to return them. Believed that she could make it work. But a relationship is only such a thing when both are willing to try. Which she was, and he…he wasn’t.

She’d cried. Every night, for an innumerous amount of days. It hurt her, to sit almost anywhere, to sleep in the same bed they’d lain together on, cuddling, so many times. Every night, once she was finally left alone, she cried. Every time she thought about the happy, fantastic, times they had, it broke her heart all over again. She remembered him telling her she looked good, remembered holding hands and laughing at the “AD/HD fish” at the aquarium. She recalled with a shattered heart, falling asleep in his arms and just staying there, feeling safe.

She’d entrusted him with her heart, the most fragile part of her. For even the toughest person with the strongest exterior, has a heart of glass. Easily shattered, difficult to mend. Impossible to get every last shard back.

They worked together, so no matter how much she wished not to see him, she had to. And it wasn’t too hard, really. No matter what he’d done, what he did, she couldn’t hate him. Couldn’t hate the one her heart had belonged to, the one she’d given all she could for. The one who’d loved her, who used to call just to say “Goodnight” and “I love you”: the one she’d thought understood her. Now she realized that love had made her stupid.

Stupid enough to let her heart be broken by the same guy twice, separated by a mere three years. Stupid enough to believe in happy endings, stupid enough to believe he really loved her, and even if that ceased, he would still care for her as a friend. Because though that’s what he said – that they were still friends – she knew friends didn’t call each other the names he’d called her, or related her to. Friends were there for you, friends always cared. And he didn’t.

So she was stupid: that was common enough amongst teenage girls. Even among grown adults, love makes you stupid. She loved him, which explained the impossibility of her hating him. She had accepted the break-up, knowing that when you truly love someone, you want what’s best for them.

He’d hurt her. Torn her down, shredded her heart. But, no matter how much she cried, and how much the hurt didn’t go away, deep in her heart, she knew she forgave him. Because he was the one she’d loved. And sometimes, life just happens.