the end of a love story

I have read hundreds of books with love stories, and that many (if not more) of broken hearts. I have read enough to think that by now I'd be able to predict the aftermath, to know what to expect when the love story turns into a broken heart. I predicted the shock and the tears. The irrational anger and utter disappointment. Confusion and clarity...the loneliness. 

The shock hit me first, out of the blue, like a punch straight to my lungs. The tears threatened to fall...but I held strong. The anger of knowing something so beautiful had just got irreparably broken, and the disappointment of the biggest promise he didn't keep. Liar

The confusion of wondering who would make me happy from now on, and the clarity of realizing he was never the source of that happiness. Loneliness being solved by a phone call to the best friend that had always been there in times of need. 

However, never in a million of years would I have expected to feel this... empty. 

I'd like to think of myself as a happy person, at least for most of the time. Nevertheless, the moment it finally sank in that it was over, I felt as if I had never had any feelings at all. What hurt the most weren't any of those things. No, what hurt the most was the sudden emptiness of my future: the unfulfilled promises, the adventure we would never get to live, the imaginary babies that would never be born...

A part of me that didn't exist yet died today...

People will say I need to be strong, that everything will be alright. But I've dodged a few stones thrown my way before and this will not be the one to take me down. I will not fall, nor will my tears. This story may end here, but my life does not and certainly will not my happiness.

~Andie

Truth

What does it means to you, telling someone they're important, that they matter? 

To me that would mean they've "earned" enough privilege to actually be a part of my life: to belong to it, to deserve to know about it, about everything significant that might happen; not to just be there hanging around. That they would be trustworthy enough to know all the truth, not just some pretty pieces of it. The whole truth, even if is not that pretty, even if you think is so dark it might stain some part of their lives, of their souls. If they're trustworthy, if they care, they deserve to know; they are worthy of the true.

And the truth can hurt. Oh, and how well I know about that dark part of the truth; I've been there, a lot during the past years. But I regret nothing, I don't regret the pain nor the tears because if I still lived in a lie it would be so much worse; I know because I've also been there.

I thought that, by now, things would be...different. That, after all this years standing by you, I'd already be trustworthy. But I guess I was wrong, you don't trust me, at least not enough. And I don't know what more to do, what more to say to change that.

And you know what hurts the most? Is knowing you hide something but still feeling you've the right to tell me by your own accord, so I won't force the truth out of your mouth. No matter how bad I wish I could, I won't; no matter how bad I wish I could open a little window to your mind and discover everything I know you're hiding, I can't.

So that leaves me with just one question: Can I trust in you, knowing you don't trust me?

White Lies | by Andie Maars | on DeviantART 

~Andie

I've been feeling...confused? I guess you can call it that. It's sad knowing a friend you've kept for so many years suddenly stopped trusting fully like it used to do.  And there isn't much you can do about it... Any advice people?