"Wisdom always chooses
these black eyes and these bruises
over the heartache that they say
never completely goes away."
~ Relient K
Urgh. I don't believe in falling in love when you're young. Especially at the age of, like, eight.
So it's really awkward and ironic that it happened to me.
Actually, "falling in love" is probably not the right sentiment. It wasn't mushy. Not really. I was too little for that. I mean, by the time I was thirteen it could have been mushy, but it wasn't. Not really. Even now it's not.
"Falling in love" doesn't really cover it either because A) that sounds romantic and B) it felt/feels deeper.
See, he was like my older brother and he was wonderful. Cocky, protective, hilarious, good-looking, popular, exciting, smart, witty. He loved strange names and reading just like I did, and still had an imagination even though he was "too old." Everyone liked him.
I have a way of getting attached to people by accident. He was my first experience with that.
I knew he would always be there for me, even though I annoyed him sometimes and sometimes he was a jerk to me. I knew he'd always be there. As I imagined myself older, he was there too. He would be there when I needed boy advice, if someone ever picked on me I knew I could tell him. He'd be at my graduation, at my wedding. He had this irreplaceable spot in my heart, my life.
But he didn't know that, I guess, because his family stopped coming to my church, and that was it. We never saw each other. We never talked. It was never the same. I wasn't invited to his graduation. He won't be here for mine. I'll probably hear about his wedding, but only because I'm friends with his sister.
His family left my church about five years ago. I finally got over the whole "heartache" thing sometime last year. I didn't really think about him much, but it wasn't out of denial or anything, I had just moved on. I had great friends, even some brother-figures, and I honestly didn't need him. I wished him well in his life, but our life spheres didn't and wouldn't ever touch. I was okay with that.
Then this week I found a poem I had written about him. Then my friend (his younger sister) wrote a blog post about him and how awesome he is and what he's doing in life, complete with pictures and a poem of her own.
Ever been kicked in the chest by a horse and then shoved onions in your eyes?
Me neither, but I think I know what that would feel like now.
I guess Relient K is right again; some heartache never completely goes away.