I got my heart broken when I was 20. I’m 22 now, and while those memories with my first love seem more distant every day, sometimes I allow myself to wonder “why?” I have never felt ugly or unworthy until the moment he left, without a goodbye or an explanation. Recovering from that was hard. It doesn’t hurt anymore unless I really think about it deeply - but I could never forget the fact that it destroyed me at one point. It changed me into somebody who could be strong enough to carry on, despite the side effects of strength being pessimism and feeling emotionless. The old me was so in love with him. Everything about him would make me feel grateful and I would have done anything for him, even died. I would have followed him to any destination and he knew it. How could he have not known? He pretended to doubt me sometimes, but maybe it was an excuse to escape. How could he have NOT known how in love I was. It was so obvious and he said he loved me too but he proved to be lying. It was hard because I couldn’t understand how I wasn’t enough for him when being loved unconditionally was all I had ever wanted. When I think about love I grieve a little for who I used to be. It’s just funny to me. If we all want to be loved, why is it that we hurt or reject those who love us? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel any anger. I don’t know what I think of him, I guess I just remember him and the memories are a reminder to me that love is not enough. And I look in the mirror every day and I feel proud of myself for who I am now-beautiful, paving my way to success, and still a good person. I’m confident now but I just don’t know what he saw when he looked at me that was so different from who I see myself as now.