The last breakup I had to endure was when I was 15.
My boyfriend at the time was older than me (surprise surprise) and it was complete and utter high school lust. I don’t believe we even said “I love you”
On the night of our illustrious 3 month anniversary we went on a walk to the park near my house, Victory Park.
For the duration of our short relationship we had called it “our park.”
I had already bought my prom dress, it was pale blue and fitted with a row of pearls along the top of the bust.
It was pitch black when we arrived, after a half-hearted attempt to “play basketball” we ended up laying on the court, making out.
Classy, I know.
On the walk home he uttered the dreaded words, “We need to talk.”
Yada yada long story short, he was going to college and didn’t want a high school girlfriend.
I refused to cry. Pretended as though I was fine the 10 minute walk back to my house.
Then I proceeded to lay in my bed and weep.
It hurt for about a week.
This is not like that time.