I walked into his room; my asthma had kicked in as I had run from the music building to his dorm; my eyes couldn't stay fixed on him. It was the end of something perhaps not beautiful, but definitely nice.
"Its all my fault," I thought. "I never went to see him; he always did all the work, and now I'm ending it." The ensuing conversation was neither painful nor long. It was quick and concise, but not terse. I left him there, on his bed, looking dejected but not too horribly worked up.
By the time I reached my dorm, warm, salty tears stung my cold cheeks. "Why was I so upset... I was the dumper NOT the DUMPEE?!?!" I went to bed upset.
The next day I put on pop/country (Martina McBride) music and thought of all the reasons I had to be pleased with myself. I liked being single. Now I could look at other guys without feeling guilty. I was unattached.
The next night I cried again. His warmth wasn't there anymore. I had to use an additional blanket.
I haven't quite recovered yet, but I'm on my way to dating again. "Just have to move slowly," I keep telling myself. baby steps.
This one was a little short, but life has been busy. Ill do better next time...hopefully on both accounts...
My name is Paul and I'm 18. I live in Michigan, but I attend college in Pennsylvania, where I'm a freshman. I love getting e-mail; you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org.