I met him 11 months ago, and something clicked. Here was this boy… curly haired, grey eyed 17 year old with a sharp mind and a way of seeing the world that made him simply brilliant and genuine. And he liked me. He was my first love.
We spent the summer together. It didn’t matter what we did, I just enjoyed being with. He wasn’t just a summer fling, though. We were together up until three weeks ago, despite the fact that he moved to Chicago with his parents in December (he was a senior in high school; I was a junior). He would fly or drive back to see me, hours and hours away. He loved where he was, but he said he loved me more. I believed him. I believed that I made him happy, and I put up with the drunken call on New Years, and the incessant need to have me get him off when he’d had too much to drink under the guise “I just want to be close to you.” I wanted to be close to him, and I wanted him to want me. I wanted to be special to him. He made me feel special. He listened intently, and he poured his secrets to me. We were natural together, and he seemed to genuine.
Then three weeks ago he came to town, and something was different. He had gotten in to his dream school, and in a moment of celebration, having drank to much, he had slept with another girl. Maybe had he apologized, or even expressed regret, we might have moved on, but he showed no repentance. He said he did it, and that he enjoyed it, and that it was over. So I told him we were over. Fuck him.
Break-Up Phase: (what's this?)