High School Love Pt 2

If that old car could talk, it would tell stories no one would believe.

It would tell you about the nights we sat inside playing Uno until we lost track of time, only to have an older man catch us and accuse us of doing something far less innocent. We laughed so hard we could barely explain that we were actually arguing over who had to draw four cards.

It would tell you about the endless drives to the lake with all of his friends packed inside, music playing louder than it should have been, windows rolled down, and not a care in the world. It wasn't the prettiest car. It wasn't fast. It certainly wasn't comfortable. But somehow, it became one of the most important parts of our love story.

Funny how something I was embarrassed by on our first date eventually became one of my favorite memories.

Before him, I thought the greatest love I would ever know was the love my parents had for me. They set the standard for what love looked like.

Then he came along and showed me that choosing someone every day was a different kind of love.

When the day came for him to leave for boot camp, a part of me left with him.

For the first time in two years, I felt completely alone. I wasn't just missing my boyfriend—I was missing my best friend. The person I talked to about everything was suddenly gone, and no amount of phone calls or distractions could fill that emptiness.

His friends still came around and wanted to spend time with me. At first, I thought they were just trying to make sure I was okay. Later, I learned the truth. They had been trying to convince him that I wouldn't stay faithful while he was away.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

Every day I waited for the mail. My senior year wasn't defined by football games, prom, or graduation. It was measured by the days a letter arrived from boot camp.

Those letters became my lifeline.

I still have every one of them.

Even now, years later, I can pull them out, unfold the worn pages, and feel the same love I felt when I first read them. It's amazing how ink on paper can transport you back to a time when love felt simple, certain, and worth waiting for.

I didn't realize it then, but one thing never changed.

No matter how much time passed or how life unfolded, the love I had for him never truly disappeared. It simply found a quiet place in my heart, waiting to be remembered.

Our relationship wasn't always sunshine and roses.

Like so many young couples who fall hard and fast, we had moments that tested us in ways we never expected.

There came a time when I felt betrayed.

A time when it seemed like he was looking over the fence, wondering if the grass might be greener somewhere else.

Whether it was curiosity, immaturity, fear, or simply being young, it didn't matter to me then. What mattered was how it made me feel.

It broke something inside of me.

For the first time in my life, I experienced what it truly felt like to have my heart broken by the person who was supposed to love it, protect it, and choose it.

Looking back now, I can see how young we really were. We had fallen in love quickly, and while our hearts were all in, life was beginning to pull us in different directions.

I was still in high school, worried about classes, homework, and graduation.

He had already graduated. He was working nights in a small factory, making porcelain vases, wall décor, and other ceramic pieces while waiting to leave for boot camp.

I still have the wall décor he made for me all those years ago.

It's funny how certain objects survive long after the moments that created them. That wall décor has outlived arguments, tears, years apart, and countless life changes. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of the young man who carefully made something with his own hands because he wanted me to have a piece of him.

Then came the phone call.

I can still remember how quickly everything changed.

The trust I had in us suddenly felt fragile, and before I could be hurt any more than I already was, I started building walls.

I convinced myself that if I pushed him away first, I couldn't be hurt again.

I wasn't trying to stop loving him.

I was trying to protect the pieces of my heart that still remained.

Sometimes that's what fear does. It doesn't always make you leave. Sometimes it makes you love from a distance, hoping that if you expect less, losing won't hurt as much.

But love doesn't work that way. And neither does a broken heart.