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.

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