In The Wee Small Hours.

Mornings are the hardest.

And the past few have been the absolute worst.

Even after a night spent dreaming of better things, I find myself waking at 5am in sweats, heart racing, with tears threatening to spill.

As the realization sinks in that things are over, there’s nothing I can do to stop the slow trickle of waterworks as they make their way out of my eyes and onto my pillow.

Even dehydrated, my body manages to scrounge up these damn tears.

I now know the meaning of the song:“In the Wee Small Hours” by Frank Sinatra.

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson

You’d be hers if only she would call

In the wee small hours of the morning

That’s the time you miss her most of all…

Frank couldn’t have said it better.

But the guy of my dreams doesn’t call. There’s no good morning text. There’s no “thanks for coming over last night :)” sentiment lighting up my screen and making my heart flutter out of my chest.

My phone is instead empty. Barren. Devoid of contact from the guy I used to know.

Here’s the thing though: he wasn’t the guy of my dreams, and I knew this from the beginning. So how come I know that, yet continue to fall prey to these early morning devastations?

I don’t know.

That’s the truth. I don’t know.

But I’m giving myself grace. It took time to get to know him, to open up, let him into my life, even if it was only for a short while. And you know me, I jump right in with my whole passionate heart. I’m all in. So it’s only natural that it will take time to heal and let go. I can’t expect to move on as quickly as I imagine him doing so.

It’s only been a few days (loooooong ones at that) and it’s okay to admit that my wounds are still open and tender. But I need to stop scratching.

Healing my heart’s wounds means that I need to start healing my thoughts, and perseverating over what was and what could have been is torture in the way of progress.

So I’m giving myself grace. I’m allowing the tears to fall because that is natural and it is what I feel in the moment. And I do this all with the knowledge that one morning, I’ll wake up without them.

But not today.

In one of my attempts at calming my beating heart, I found myself perusing Pinterest, hunting for comforting words of wisdom.

There were plenty, but there was one that stood out. One passage that clicked within me, made me sit up in bed and pause the tears.

Instead of asking

why they left,

now I ask,

what beauty will i create

in the space they no longer

occupy?

-rudy francisco

What beauty will I create? That’s quite poignant.

The space he occupied before was flawed. I can’t tell you how many journal entries, texts to my friends, and confessions to my therapist I had where I was unhappy, uncertain, disappointed, and longing to be treated better. For a while, I think I stayed because I believe in happy endings. I had hoped for things to change. But I realize now that I was so thirsty for attention that I ignored the fact that instead of this relationship satiating me, it made me parched. And that’s not right, or healthy.

So I ask again: what beauty will I create in the space they no longer occupy?

All of these broken pieces, the shattered heartbreaks, and the countless hours spent crying over someone who wasn’t right for me aren’t defining me, they’re shaping me. And they’re building a beautiful masterpiece.

I’m forgetting how goddamn strong I am, and I’m not giving myself enough credit for the growth I’m going through.

Remember, growing might feel like breaking at first.

Battling with a broken heart, fighting the effects of COVID (having no taste or smell is torture), quarantining with one’s own thoughts, and the darkness of Alaskan winters- this is one big battle! But I’m getting through it it, slowly.

And one of these days I will come out victorious on the other side. And in the wee small hours of the morning, I will wake with no more tears…

calm after the storm .

A cold wind swept through town.

The vicious piercing kind of wind that cuts through clothes and heads straight to the soul.

I felt it was appropriately timed, an impending doom for what was about to come.

For it was coming.

On the heels of this storm came the worst kind of destruction- that of a broken heart.

I know.

We’re here, again.

I find myself rewriting these same words, again.

Trust me, I don’t like it either.

I had truly hoped I was done. I deserve to be done: with the heartbreak, the rejection, the reality that things don’t work out between me and the guy. I mean, things were looking up, looking good even.

But in my experience, when things seem to be too good to be true, they probably are too good to be true.

It started earlier this week.

I first sensed these feelings of dread when I felt him pull away. You know the signs: not texting back, surface responses, and sudden disinterest in spending time with you. And as much as I was trying to deny what I knew was coming, I couldn’t help but slip into the darkness.

Panic began to spread through me like cancer. Anxiety hit me with such force and aggression that I didn’t even recognize the woman reacting was actually me.

Wails like a banshee came out of my body from a place so torched and burned by pain. Tears pooled themselves under my eyes, which eventually erupted, spreading mascara all over my face like a blind artist throwing paint at a canvas. My fingers twitched, grasped for something, anything. They found themselves on two innocent parts of my body, tearing at the skin.

I couldn’t even comprehend the physical pain. All I felt was a flood of emotions, suffocating me slowly, purposefully. It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror and saw the horror of my heartbroken face and the blood on my now tender skin where my fingers so rigorously scratched, that I realized how wretched I really felt.

This isn’t right. The right guy would never make me feel this way.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the end. The boy and I hadn’t even had our conversation yet.

As the days, hours, minutes, and seconds led up to his arrival at my humble home, all I felt was inevitable heartbreak. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. My heart beat slightly faster and I constantly felt choked with uncertainty.

Uncertainty? No. I knew what was coming.

I’ve heard it before, yet I will never get used to the feeling of a freight train crashing itself into my compassionate heart as he kindly tells me he doesn’t think we should see each other anymore.

*writing that still hurts

Part of me felt relief knowing how he truly felt. Another part of me hardened. I stood there, staring at him, at this guy I genuinely liked, not quite understanding how things that were going so good were all of a sudden going so bad.

Processing the barrage of emotions that were threatening to spill out of my mouth, all I could do was cry. And when I did speak, I did so desperately.

I tried every angle. I suggested friends with benefits, just friends, getting to know each other more to see if that missing “spark” would suddenly appear for us both, but I knew it was a dead end.

It was over.

And it broke my damn heart.

As images of our time together raced through my mind and as the realization sunk in that things would never be the same, I let the tears pour.

It hurt.

It still hurts.

And it will hurt for some time.

Even as he left, I couldn’t help but cling on to him just a little longer, not quite ready to have him leave just yet.

But he did.

What’s left now is how I let this experience shape me. What lies ahead is how I can learn from this intense reaction and fight for how long I let this pain stay.

She had a very inconvenient heart. It always insisted on feeling things ever so deeply.

I deserve better. I deserve best. Looking back, there were red flags, the worst of which was how I was treated the entire week leading up to this relationship’s demise.

I deserve someone who will love all the little things about me: the puns, the pom pom sweater, my overwhelming emotions. Someone who will understand and accept the complexity of who I am and help heal the weight of heartbreak I carry in my heart. I deserve someone who wants to build his life with me, not build me into theirs. I deserve a man who’ll drive 13 miles to see me regardless of whether they’re tired or have to get up early in the morning, because the simple act of seeing me will be worth it.

In the end, I’m grateful that it ended as early as it did. Because now I can move on.

I believe that like the wind, the pain will eventually pass. The tears will dry, my heart will slowly mend itself back together again in one piece, and I will go forward in life with the understanding that the right man will never make me feel like this again.

And the next time when a man comes, he’ll blow me away.

Just like the wind.