I Should Be Able To Listen To “All Of Me” By John Legend Without Bursting Into Tears

I can’t shake him.

I mean, physically he has been gone for years, but he still resides in my spirit. When I think of love, I think of him, and that infuriates me. I should be able to listen to “All of Me” by John Legend without bursting into tears. I should be able to watch Love Jones without having an hour-long cry session afterward. I still can’t believe I let this man ruin Love Jones for me! He damn sure was no Darius Lovehall, but he was my most painful, most beautiful, most all-encompassing experience with love.

If asked to describe my idea of heaven, I would describe his embrace. His muscular, long arms would hug and caress me, encompassing me in the kind of warmth that lulls one to sleep after being out in the cold. The sweet scent of his cologne served as aromatherapy, triggering feelings of nostalgia and security. His presence was my high, and like most recreational drugs, he left me worse than he met me. He was only mine when he was with me. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. When we were together, conversation flowed like water. Our intimacy was well beyond the bedroom. We knew each other’s deepest fears, hopes, and desires. He was scared of rejection. I feared abandonment. We helped each other work through our issues. Talking to each other felt sacred. Each talk so free, so easy, so heartfelt that it felt like prayer. Even when we laid in complete silence, it was if our souls carried on a conversation of their own. He told me that I was the love of his life, and I believed him. Although this was my first time being in love, I knew this bond was too magical to be recreated with anyone else.

When he wasn’t with me our magic turned into my kryptonite. His ex-girlfriend would post pictures with him and his family on Facebook. He would call me during the day asking me to spend the night with him, and then when night came he would ignore my phone calls and I cried myself to sleep every time. One day, I got so fed up with being stood up that I vowed to never speak to him again. I didn’t answer his phone calls or reply to his texts for months. He texted me on Valentine’s Day asking if I’d received the Edible Arrangement he sent me. Young, dumb, and hoping for the best, I replied ecstatically. I told him that I would let him know as soon as I got to my dorm. Lo and behold, I arrive to my dorm and there is no decorative fruit basket with my name on it. I messaged him asking if he had the right address, and he informed me that he canceled it since I wasn’t there. Smelling his lying-behind-man-manure, I contacted the two Edible Arrangements’ stores in our area, and they both confirmed that there was never an order put in for me or from him. This type of stuff started to happen all of the time. It was always something, and the lies and drama were beginning to replace the magic we once shared. As time went on, we began taking “breaks” often, all per my request. I knew I was being manipulated, but I couldn’t walk away completely. I was stuck.

I began to compete for his attention. Anything he didn’t like, I changed. He complained about me not being affectionate enough, I showered him with hugs and kisses. Whatever outfits he complimented me in, I bought more of. I wore my hair how he liked it. I worked out because he told me he liked the progression. If he was hungry, I would give him my last, and he would take it gladly. I wanted to be everything for him, so much so, that I completely lost myself in the process.

During our last break (the result of me once again being stood up), he called me saying that after us being “involved” for nearly four years, I still was the one who gave him butterflies. He told me I was perfect, and he would never leave me. Just like that, I was back under his spell. That night, he came over to talk. We discussed how much we loved each other. We talked about the good times, and a possible future together. Finally on good terms, we began to kiss as I sat on his lap. I took off his shirt and could tell that he was trying to turn his body to cover a new tattoo that he had gotten on his chest. After countering his resistance for a few more minutes, I was able to see the tattoo more clearly. It was a heart with a lock on it, and next to that heart a small key. Inside the key were initials… the initials of his “ex-girlfriend”. My eyes stung with tears. Despite what he had told me in the past, I knew she was still in the picture, but I didn’t want to know he loved her. I didn’t need to know that she was a permanent fixture in his life. I didn’t want him to see me cry, so I hopped off of his lap, and went to grab my phone. I was pretending to read a message, when my tears betrayed me by falling on my Blackberry’s screen. He wanted me to look at him. He tried to take my phone. I just kept yelling, “Do not touch me!” It was all I could say. I was so hurt, not even mad, just incredibly hurt. He wouldn’t stop touching me. He kept trying to hug and kiss me, so I punched him in the face with my phone in hand. He told me he loved me and he left. He sent me messages throughout the day just telling me he loved me. I spoke to him a couple of times after that. I do believe he was sorry he hurt me, but I don’t believe that he loved me. I never brought it up again. I couldn’t talk about it. He didn’t talk about it. The man, who I gave all of me to broke me by giving his love to someone else. The damage had been done. We were finally over.

Today when I shed tears in his memory, it’s no longer because I am broken, but because I am ashamed and afraid. I am ashamed that I was once so dumb, so insecure, and so weak. And I am afraid that I am so tainted that I will never be able to open up to anyone again. I am afraid that I will never experience intimacy as deep and as magical, as that of what I felt with the one who I let break me. And I am afraid that he did not give me back all of my pieces.

Caressa
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