I regret getting married young
The day I let go
I’ve always loved him. I loved the way he made me feel, I loved the way he cared for me, I loved the way he treated me. I loved the way he knew how to make me smile but on top of everything, I simply just loved him. Over the past year, since marrying him. I slowly learnt about pieces of him that didn’t seem to fit in my puzzle, it was as if the puzzle piece was altered, broken perhaps. So I spent my time psychologically analysing him, trying to excuse his behaviour, I even went far as to blame his parents for everything. Yet, it wasn’t until my very birthday that I finally realised that I’m not giving up on him, but rather I’m learning how to let go of him. My birthday. I’ve always always loved my birthday, it was like a day of just me, a celebration of me. I always made birthdays a big deal, he used to say “it’s not a birthday, it’s a birthweek/birthmonth for you”. My birthday finally came around, I ordered a beautiful vintage cake, I even wore my brand new dress. But, there in the crowd full of people singing to me, the one person I wanted to join was not there. The one person I always look for first in a room full of people. The one who I wanted to be next to me, to hold me, to love me and to make me feel better. He was not there. At first, I dodged the feelings of hurt and sadness, but then it came rushing down when I even offered him cake later on to have, my birthday cake, but he said no. No. The man that wants to be with me, the man who loves me, the man who cares for me. The man I married.