Personal Narrative: Come On, Talk To Me

“Come on, talk to me.” I said this as I lovingly ran both of my hands over his arm. He reclined on our bed with a stoic gaze. “Maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe I was just imagining it all. Maybe everything was fine.” I thought.
“One thing I know about both of us is that we’ve always been able to communicate.” I could feel each hair on his arm standing on end as my fingertips grazed his forearm and finally rested at his wrist. “It’s really not a big deal,” I said. But it was a huge deal.
“You know this stuff happens, I just want to know for sure because you’re not talking.” I said these things with an almost exuberant smile, but inside I felt like a million sharks were ripping me apart limb by limb. “Come on talk to me, please! I feel like something’s wrong, you’re acting differently.” I said. “I won’t be mad, I promise. I just don’t want to feel crazy anymore, I
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The hardest part was seeing the man I thought was eternally committed to me feel such great relief when he let me go. I could see the weight of it all leave him while I was barely breathing. Sometimes I wonder if I handled it correctly. I never told him how much I hurt for him. I never told him how much I loved him. And sometimes I am haunted by the memory of him. Sometimes I am haunted by the feelings I held in that I never allowed myself to release or express to him.
Do I want to be with him now? Twenty years later would I rekindle the flame of first love if able? I don’t think so, but I wonder if I had been honest would I be free of the emotional wound it left me? Of this I am not sure.
But one thing I have practiced since the heart ache of my first love, I am honest. No matter what is said or thought of me, I tell the truth to myself and others about how I feel. I refuse to pretend.
I allow myself the freedom to express myself without the worry of judgement from others. This is the lesson of my first

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