Give up the ghost

He walked in and the aroma of coffee hugged his scent. The bustle of the busy coffee shop almost bothered him. But he hadn't slept all night and needed a dose of caffeine to help him stay awake. It was a long weekend after all.

And that’s when he noticed her, off the corner of his eye. She was perusing the pastry counter in deep thought unsure of what she wanted. She turned slightly realizing she was holding the line and offered the next customer her place in line.

“You go first” She said.

She hadn't noticed him. She hadn't even looked at his face. Just the figure of the man standing next to her. Until he said his drink order. And then her body perked up, she knew that voice. Every inch of her body recognized his being. She wouldn't even have to look twice to know it was him.

It was the first time that they saw each other in person. 1 year and 6 month since the last time he kissed her. And too many sleepless nights, tears, and heartache since the last time she’d broken his heart.

Between his drink order and hers they mumbled hellos and an awkward handshake. He wanted to say something, but in front of all these people it was impossible. So he said it was good seeing her and to take care as he walked out of the coffee shop.

But as the door closed behind him his heart sank, as her eyes welled up with tears she would not let herself shed.  She thought he’d gone and she said to herself that was that. She waited for her order and walked out to her car. She looked up and he was leaning against it.

“Coffee?” She said lingering on the last letter, startled, not knowing what else to say.

“Coffee.”

“But you don’t drink coffee”. She smirked. And that bothered him that she assumed that she still knew him at all.

“Some things change. Some things have changed. Look at your hair! It’s… its blonde!” He reached his hand and grabbed a lock of her hair and she flinched.

“Um. Yea, needed a new look”.

“Does He like blondes?” He said sarcastically.

And though outdoors, in a wide open space, the air filled tumultuously with discomfort. She eyed the door but he didn't budge.

“As long as I like it, that’s all that matters.”

“Guess not much has changed; you still do whatever you please, in disregard to anyone.”

She bit her lip and sighed aloud. She knew where this conversation was headed. 

“Let’s not do this, please. Please, let’s not do this, you’ll say something, then I’ll say something. And you’ll find another reason to be angry”.

He angered with just those words. “You always have a way out, don’t you? It’s so easy for you to brush people off when they speak truths you don’t want to hear. Well I've spent too much time thinking about what I was going to say to you the first time I saw you, and you’re going to hear it!”

She was taken aback, stunned. But she knew he needed this, that it was part of his closure, so she let him continue without interruption. So there, on a clear August day, she let him one last time plow right through her.

There was so much venom in his words, so much anger in his delivery. And all she could think about was how much she had hurt him by walking away the way she did. ‘There should be stars for great wars’ like theirs.

Some breakups occur out of thin air, others are messy, and terribly painful, like pulling teeth. And everyone deals with it differently. Closure as well comes in different forms. Some people do okay with a long cry and a tub of Haagen-dazs. Other’s need a screaming match and a burning of something or other. A type of sacrificial remembrance where they hope to do away with physical memories hoping to cast the internal ones as well.

I don’t know what the correct way of dealing with a break up is. And you’d think I’d be an expert. But I know that whichever way you do, you have to be able to walk away with your heart in your hand. Take control of what you lost; don’t give your power to someone else by holding on to resentment and pettiness. Forgive and forget, not for them, but for yourself, because no one can walk through life with a load of baggage successfully. When you tangle yourself so deeply into past misfortunes, when the anger consumes you it warps your perspective of the future. It haunts you.

Give up the ghost. Let it go. Not because that person deserves it, but because you do. Making a mountain out of minuscule things and carrying hatred in your heart doesn't decay the other person, it burns holes in your own heart.

Let the echo’s of the past be the past. Leave behind the daunting memories that shadow you. Break free from the chains that anchor you. Unbury your soul, shake of the dust. Look ahead darling, I promise it will be all right. 

Cropping out history

I sat at home flipping through a magazine when I received a text form a friend. I look at my phone to find it’s a picture of her and Superman announcing that they were now in a relationship.

I laughed out loud. She’s so silly.

“If it were only that easy” I replied

“It should be”

“Right”

“Well maybe you can’t crop your way into someone’s heart. But can you crop someone out of your own?” And I knew where she was headed.

Recently she’d suffered an ill fated love affair. The type that leaves you reeling because you gave so much more than you could afford to give.

They’d had a whirlwind romance. The type that usually ends with a white dress and a reception where you vow eternal love for one another. But short from taking that step of asking her to marry him, he developed many doubts. Instead of working through those doubts, he decided he simply didn’t want to be in a relationship with her. She was left in shock. From night to day, he changed his mind, and she, well she had no choice but to respect his decision.

“My heart won’t listen to my mind. I just want to be over him. Why aren’t I over him?”

She was fighting a battle; the realization of loss, the abandonment, the dissolution, and the piling of mixed emotions were asphyxiating her rationality.

What she really wanted was an easy fix to her ever breaking heart. But when it comes to healing, it’s a process. One that requires that pesky little word – Time. Because if it were that easy to just hit crop, narrow the corners of our lives, exclude the unwanted, unnecessary parts of our lives. Would our pictures ever be whole? Without all the pieces, would the puzzle ever really be complete?

They say that if you don’t pay attention to the past you will never understand the future. And maybe it’s true. Maybe in the grand scheme of things it makes us stronger, wiser, and more resilient.

He was a memory that she never wanted to visit again. And I couldn’t blame her. But it wasn’t about him any longer; it was about looking closer at the picture. Zooming in. Realizing that the girl with the red watery eyes, who wore sadness on her shoulders, would come out the other end a better, much stronger person.

See hitting crop too many times doesn’t free us of the unnecessary; it cripples us to a much smaller grasp of things. Because you can crop the person out of the picture, but you can’t crop the memories lived with them. Our lives aren’t self edited still images we post to have someone comment and critique on. Our lives are a running moving, picture, with sound and bloopers.

Bad things are always going to happen in life. You are bound to get hurt. But instead of cowering away from that, that will only mold you, it is necessary to just accept things. Deal with the emotions, and face the issues head on. Realizing that it’s your story and in the end it’s entirely up to you how the ending is written. And if all else fails, well, you can always Photoshop a picture of Superman right next to you. :)

Love you most

It was the third day of spring. I was sitting in the passenger’s seat talking away the drive. I’d been so long since her and I had been on a night out alone. But there we were, headed to a day of errands, a late dinner and a movie.

We were discussing an upcoming trip to NYC and when it would be best to take it before or after the wedding. And the subject turned to Wedding. I took over the conversation asking her a million questions. I always valued her opinion most of all. She knew me better than most of all. And as the unofficial Mexican Martha Stewart, her opinions truly mattered.

So I spilled over on wedding colors, and decoration likings. Flower arrangements and mental lists of prices. I rambled on about seating arrangements and list of guests. Never noticing that the more I spoke the more she responded less and less. Her mood heavy, a tear was shed. So crazed into my future I’d forgotten my present. It was in that moment she looked at me and said:

“I’ll miss you.”

There was pain in her eyes. I cringed as I watched her clear her throat. She was immediately uncomfortable for that sign of weakness. That was her way. But I heard it, and it meant the world to me. I smiled gathering up the courage.

“So what color?” She asks, concentrating again on the road, not giving me a chance to respond. She narrowed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder. And I knew that was my cue to move on. She wasn’t one to show weakness, or emotion, her kind of love was felt in action. Few “I love you’s” ever crossed her lips. So when she said something, it was rare but it was truthful and heartfelt.

Later that night, as she was immersed into the film in front of us, I got lost in her laughter, in her lighthearted way, and in the gleam of her eyes. She was so beautiful. So absolutely enchanting. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew how much I loved her.

Growing up we had a huge gap in ages. I was her bratty little sister, clinging to her by order of mom and not her own wish. When the years progressed we were never partners in crime or confidants but we were each other’s most reliable source. She always had my back and I had hers. It was an unwritten law, and unspoken law, but it was law nonetheless.

We were very different. I was a social butterfly who lived on a cloud. And she was a realist who dreamed meekly. And when it came to love, well we, we were very different on that matter too. I was more my father’s child in that way, in love with love. With me you could always tell who I was interested in. Even as a child I had my life planned around what I thought love would grant me. Silly notions and silly thoughts. But she, well she was more reserved.

And even though it was the case, there were a couple suitors. But for some reason or another, most unaware to me she never found the right man. She set high standards for herself and was much more preoccupied with the enlighten of herself than the search of another’s heart. I loved that about her. Society… not so much. We come from a background where Everyone gets married. And Everyone has kids. The definition of what it was to be a woman in my family. But she never let stereotypes get in the way. She was of a strong character, one who made her in my eyes not as weak as I. I’ve always admired her for that.

The years went on and eventually all her girlfriends married one by one. And I finally became of age to gain her as a friend. And where I went she followed. I grew sick in 2008 and she was irrevocably tied to me. She slept on the floor of a hospital for a year showing me how much she loved me. It was such a selfish time I took from my family then. She gave up all her free time to help ease the burden of taking care of me. And she became more than a sister; she was a nurse, almost a second mother. Never nagging for a second putting her life on hold for me.  

Those 5 years took a hard toll on all of us. My condition though eventually became more manageable. Slowly I took the reins back from my family and from her. And slowly I ventured, heart in hand, out into the world again. I found out with all the extra baggage it wasn’t as easy as when I was young and healthy and vibrant. So I gave up on love, and on myself. I concentrated solely on my close friends and family, and the bond between my sister and I grew stronger. It was unspoken, but we knew that we’d grow old together. We began planning our lives again, trips, and goals to reach. And I think she knew I’d never leave her side. It was comforting in a way, to know that you’d always have someone beside you, who you could share the ups and downs of life with for the rest of your days.

In the past couple of months though, love gave me one last blessing, unexpectedly when I let go of the wheel I ended up right where I belonged. And in the shape of a wonderful man I found out there was still one last story left in me. One last enchanting and beautiful future. One that him and I are writing at the time, and will soon seal and sign.

My sister is happy for me, as is the rest of the family. But it wasn’t till she said those words that I realized my happiness was bittersweet for her. And so, for me. Because though my future is bright, and it makes me overjoyed to think about. There’s also the realization that I leave behind a loving home, and a loving sister, friend, and one of the women I hold most dear.

She’ll always be a part of my life. She’ll always hold a much bigger part of my heart than she’ll ever know. But reality is things won’t be the same. They can’t be. I’ll be married at the end of the year and will start a whole new role in my own life. And she, well she’s got her own life to live, places to venture off to and people to love, hold, and cherish. And these years, the years of our early life, they’ll be warm memories to hold in our hearts, to esteem once our hair is gray and our youth is long gone.

It’s finally late in the evening when we are heading back home. I’ve gotten sick over something I ate again, and she’s rushing me home for meds. I climb into bed finally, agonizing in pain. She walks in turns my lamp on. And hands me a cup of tea. She asks if I want her to sleep with me. I decline and tell her to rest. She’s halfway to the doorway wishing me a good night and I finally say…

“I’ll miss you too… I love you”

She looks back and smiles.

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories

“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories” (An Affair to Remember)

It was the first day of winter today. The first day in November a chill filled the air. So cold you bypass the shadows and head straight for the sunlight paths. But it was there among the cold I walked alone.

I was running errands and getting swept away by the Monday Blues. I made it to my car finally and got in as quickly as possible. I burred loudly as an alert flashed the screen on my phone. I looked down and realized my calendar was alerting me of birthdays and such. I scrolled down and I saw his name.

I found it strange that I still held this information after so many years. Even more surprised when I realized it was in some way comforting. And in that car alone, on the first day of winter, with a chill in the air… I felt warmth.

I was only 15 when I met him. I was Cinderella at the ball when I met him, and he was the prince who found my lost slipper. I remember it well. I was sitting down when he walked in to the skating ring. I’d just suffer a hard fall and was trying to recuperate. A bit embarrassed I was taking my skates off when he came over. He’d recognize a mutual friend sitting next to me and wanted to say hello. He had a smile on his face when he introduced himself to me. He asked me what I was doing. And I said that I was quitting.

He laughed and said “Don’t do that. Come on, come with me. I promise, don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.” He extended his hand and I took it.

He was a stranger. But as I took his hand and proceeded to skate with him side by side I forgot all about it. He was charming, and witty, and terribly sweet. It felt safe, and warm, and right.

So we skated the rest of the night, and when the night ended we said goodbye. Sadly, neither one of us thought of asking the other for each other’s number. And yet somehow, I knew I’d see him again someday.

Months passed before I ever did. It was at a convention. I was about to take a step down the stairs when something made me turn left. And there he was. Dressed in a suit, and enchanting smile, just a couple feet away from me. Our eyes met, and we both swiftly moved towards each other. Needless to say, when the convention was over he asked for my number then. The rest as they say was history. Beautiful, first love, enchanting history.

We invested 5 years into each other. We loved foolishly and sometimes blindly the way first loves are often lived. It wasn’t a perfect love. It was after all my first. It was full of mistakes, much on my end for being so young. Full of emotions and ultimatums.

Expectation is what ruins first loves, and it did ours. I’d expected love to be a certain way, having it been engraved in me when it didn’t pan out the way I planned it, it felt like the sky was falling. But he never wavered. He loved me unconditionally. So beautifully that I couldn’t help but keep coming back to him.

The magic of first loves is our ignorance that it can never end. But they do. Because at that age, butterflies never lie still long enough. We parted ways at the end of those 5 years, and moved on with our lives.

I loved him dearly, and I know he loved me very much. But sometimes all the love in the world won’t save a sinking ship. Sometimes you just have to jump over board. And though till this day it warms my heart when I see him, an ending was an ending. No matter how many pages of beautifully written stories led up to it, it would always have the last word.

It’s been many years since then, time and distance created an inevitable gap, and needless to say we both ventured off into different territories. But even so sometimes I can still close my eyes and hear him say “Don’t you worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall”. And it still warms my heart.

So maybe I never really got Cinderella’s ending. Maybe in the process the glass slipper broke, but the story well that lives on forever. When I recant the story, I realize how terribly fortunate I was for having had an almost perfect first love. It set the standard pretty high thereafter. And left me a bit of an optimist when it comes to love.

I don’t know where he is in life, strangely enough. But wherever he is I wish him well, and happiness, and lots and lots of love because he deserves it. I adore him still, and always will, after all no one forgets their first love. I have only fond memories. Sweet rose colored memories. And I always will.

Some people in your life create that kind of impact. That inevitable mark in your heart that leaves you changed forever. Making you forever indebted with them for helping shape you. And thanks to him I learned what love is.

Sarah Dessen once wrote: “Some things don’t last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.”

And it’s true. Winter may be cold and bitter, and you might burr in desperation at times when it comes to love, but warm memories, well they stay with you forever. And they give you hope in despair. They remind you that if all else fails, eventually, spring will come.

No two good things happen in one day

‘No two good things happen in one day’. I read that once, or someone told me those words. The truth is I can’t remember it. But my mother told them to me this afternoon and they struck me like déjà vu. I’d been here before. This place was familiar. My path always led me here, no matter how many times the territory seemed hopeful and different, it was always this ending.

I’ve never been one to believe in luck. To be frank I don’t think it exists. But if it did I’d take the cake on horrible hardship luck. From wretched events that leave you with battle scars, to the silliest of happenings that leave you exasperated. Like a flat tire, or leaving your key inside the car, or rain without an umbrella. That was my life. Sure, it gave for some good stories, and I’ve laughed at myself more than anyone should be allowed. And I’m a mock of jokes to my friends because of my clumsy ways. But everything in small doses can be taken. Like that horrible pink, grapey syrup your mom gave you when you were little. One spoonful and it was over. You’d follow that gross after taste with your favorite juice or “something special” your mom would let you have because you’d been such a good girl. All things were bearable in small doses.

This week was one of those weeks you knew were special, the kind you’ll always remember because they leave a permanent history marker in your trajectory. And if you’re me, even a visible one. I spent it half working/half vacationing at the beach. But very much elated at the fact that a lot of things in my life seemed to being good. I’d recently received a clean bill of health; my book was days away from being published. I was content with where I’d been and where I was going. I’d even found someone to love again. Well, it all took a turn when I tumbled down the stairs on Monday. Literally. We rented a two story house at the beach and I was in a hurry that night going to meet up with family for dinner. Anyway I guess I should have known better but I rushed, and slipped mid-stairs all the way down. Going thump, thump, thump on my ‘derriere’ right down to the first floor. Bruising myself in places that were even a new triumph for me, if you’d like to think of it that way. I was the butt of the joke that night, and the rest of the vacation of course, no pun intended. But even a silly, clumsy moment should have told me better. It hinted, at the beginning of something. Starting the week on the wrong foot literally should always tell you something.

But that’s the thing; we all like to get caught up in the joy of it all. Sure, it might be the eye of the storm, but it’s YOUR eye. And in that moment, the clouds have parted and the sun is shining and that is all that matters to you. Who cares if a second wall is about to rip through the town, you don’t see it. You dare not imagine it, and you dare not believe anyone who forecasts it. But that’s the thing about inevitability it won’t wait for you to arm yourself with courage. It’ll hit you, blindside your emotions, even when you knew exactly what could happen.

The week progressed and I chose to put certain emotions at bay. Things that couldn’t be turned away from, when they were hitting you straight in the face. Yet things that hundreds of miles away from home you could pretend for a second weren’t happening. You weren’t there, it wasn’t real, and it was a dream, a nightmare if you will. Something happening to the girl, with that name and that life, that only belonged to that person when they were there, in that city. But all tales have a harsh reality, and all houses of cards will fall. So I went home to face reality, and anguish in the form of physical pain, death, and ill-fated love affair. And all in that order.

Miles from the sea, my body ached feeling the pain finally of my injured body. Miles from the sea I learned the man I’d fallen for had moved states away. Miles from the sea I learned that my great-aunt had passed away. All in one day. Inevitability. And I had nothing but seconds to compose myself and digest it. And it didn’t matter how successful that week had been making me walk on cloud nine. Right now, a brick wall had reminded me I was human. And all I could hear was a thump, thump, thump, going down.

That first day, seemed to drag along forever. The more the day went on, the heavier my step felt, the heavier my heart weighed. And I felt my confidence cower into a corner, shunned by every shot of pain showering from my heart in the form of sorrow. I couldn’t remember anything else but reality. The book seemed not a dream realized, but just something you crossed off a to-do list. The signature I’d attached to a certain application that I’d hope would soon bring back an “old privilege” was muddled. The great vacation spent with loved ones, was now just a story. The name’s I wrote on the sand, stating to the world I loved again, had been washed away by the tide. Right then, all I could think about was how foolish I was to think that I had any right to be happy.

I had no resilience. Just a deepening disappointment of myself. Because my mom was right. All good things couldn’t happen in one day. My experience should have led me to know better. But it was also true that all things could be bearable in small doses. But all at once, well, they can make even the biggest optimistic a jaded pessimistic.

I laid in bed that night for hours, sitting in a pool of self pity. And in that night every bad thing ever happened to me came crawling back from the corners of my mind. Memories and nightmares that danced around my room. Haunting and taunting me. And for that night I was that girl. That girl who cries and cries and can’t seem to stop crying because she’s exasperated with the amount of baggage life seems to hand her. I was that girl for that night, well except, I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry though every inch of my body cringed with sorrow. Because I no longer had the tears of a child… I had the melancholy heart of a woman.

We tend to fall apart when so many bad things happen all at once. Maybe because it’s the easiest thing to do, even though we feel like it’s the toughest thing to go through.  Till now my ‘Achilles heel’ had always been caring too much. Everyone knew it was my weakness. But I never saw it that way. Quite frankly it was my defense mechanism in some morbid way. I didn’t change it because it kept me human, and grounded. And it gave me every darn right to keep dreaming, hoping, and wishing for better days. The bible says eternity is inscribed within us, that’s to explain why we have that innate desire to want more than what we have now. Our mere imperfect soul craves what once belonged to us. True Happiness, Perfection, and Ever Lasting Life. But you let enough bad things happen to you with your guard down, and darling, your skepticism will be showing.

Where do you find the happy medium? Well I don’t think it’s an actual place, or a moment of closure, or one exact moment in time you can pinpoint in your life. I think it happens with time, with sadly, hardship, and lots of it. With the realization that you’ve been through worse things and you’ve gotten through them. And that with time this too shall pass. It doesn’t happen when you’re young, it can’t. Because you can call yourself the biggest optimist but unless you have the record to prove otherwise you really have no right to be.

But when you’ve been through it. Whatever “it” means personally to you. And you’ve come out the other end. You won’t question if this is all there is. You will know that optimism isn’t a blinding trait. It is a quality you can’t forfeit to the world, because you’ve earned the right to say “I will find the will, I will find a way.”

So when the next day came, long awaited, I rolled out of bed. Looked outside, and the sun was shining. And I was alive. And that was all that mattered.

Here's to happy endings

“It didn’t make you noble to step away from something that wasn’t working; even if you thought you were the reason for the malfunction. Especially then. It just made you a quitter. Because if you were the problem, chances were you could also be the solution. The only way to find out was to take another shot.” – Sarah Dessen

“Maybe letting someone go is the best chance you have for them to come back?” He asked me.

I know what he wanted me to say. To give him a sure answer that she would come back. That it was that simple. I’d always been that person for him, the one who reassured him against all odds. But in that moment every cynical bone in my body wanted to speak out and say: “Love is a load of crap, Run.” It’s funny how altering a personality can be after a series of failed relationships.

But instead I looked at him intently; I bit my lip, as I do in deep thought.

He’d recently come to the realization that the person he loved most in this world was the same person he hurt most. They’d had a relatively short but very passionate relationship, with high emotions, and incredibly high standards. It failed. On his end. It was his fault. It was a series of reasons but that’s not the point. The point is that he let her go, even tried to move on, only to realize that she had always been the one. It’s like my “dress theory” I always talk about. By the time he came back to the first store where he saw the one item he couldn’t find anywhere else… she was gone. And it tore at his being. He the guy, who never showed emotion long enough to get hurt, was left struck, exposed, vulnerable. So this was where he was at now, trying desperately to win her back, with dwindling faith.

“Well is it?” He asked again as if he thought I hadn’t heard him.

“That’s impossible to tell. But I know this much. Life is very, very short. This is it. This is no rehearsal. You’re living it right now. And you must fight for the one you love. Because, what if tomorrow never comes? What if you never get another chance to tell them exactly how you feel? I despise that phrase “If you love something let it go, if it comes back to you it’s yours, if it doesn’t it never was.” Because it’s like saying let FATE decide for us. Love isn’t Fate. It requires chance and opportunity and choices, very emotional, but nonetheless choices. But not Fate. So give it your all before you back out. Try as hard as you can. And if in the end you must walk away, then do so with a clean conscience, knowing you did everything you could.”

He sighs “I’m just so tired of being sad…”

“Well then change this road block into a turning point. Win her heart again. Do not give up. You’ve never given up. Why start now?”

“Because it feels like I don’t have any strength in me, I feel so weak, and I don’t think I can. How do you win someone’s heart again?”

The conversation trailed off as we bounced ideas off each other. Him longingly taking each piece of advice as if it was a floating device.

“Whatever you do, don’t! And I mean DON’T show up to her house on a white horse to serenade her!” I said jokingly. And he laughed for the very first time, in a very long time.

Later that night I found myself within a sleepless night. I thought about my own past, my lack thereof triumph. The fact that it was ironic that, I, the woman with the least amount of success rate was the one always asked for advice. I chuckled at the irony, as I sat down and wrote.

The truth is I don’t believe in fate. But I do believe in love. As crazy as it sounds. Yes! The girl that sucks at relationships, and ironically writes about them for a living, does believe in love. I’m the most optimistic skeptic you’ll ever meet. Because as startling as reality can be, as emotionally expensive it is to go against the odds, it is detrimental to the core of our being to continue to have faith. For all the tumble in our experience we still must have hope. And love, deep, and honest, TRUE love… well that can conquer anything.

Because it’s not an imperfection or a weakness to let it bring us down to our knees, it’s a quality. It comes from a greater power. One bigger than ourselves and all the mistakes that we make with our relationships. But that doesn’t mean you should take it for granted, like it’s up to the cosmic universe for things to fall into place for you. Because it is the things you fight for and struggle with before earning that have the greatest worth. Because in the end when something is difficult to come by, you’ll do much more to make sure it’s even harder, or impossible, to lose…

So here’s to happy endings…

The roller coaster ride...

The worst thing about NOT being in a relationship is having to give advice about love.

I love my friends and if there's something I can do to help. I'm the first one there. But at times having to give advice is a bit draining. Especially when you have to give advice about something you never followed.

It reminds you that at some point that's not something you believed in. And that if you had maybe there would have been a different outcome.

But there I was on a roller coaster, of all places, when my friend turns and looks at me and says "What do i do? What would you do?"

"Scream" I said. She says "Why?"

"Because we are about to drop" She looks down and realizes it. And we scream.

When we get off, she realizes I haven't given her any advice so she asks again. I look at her and say "Love is a bit of a roller coaster. Sometimes you're up and laughing with giddiness. At times you are down. Screaming inside, holding your stomach with nervous pain. Sometimes you feel like you are on top of the world. At times you feel like your feet are dangling in the air. Its a risk, its thrilling. But no matter how many times you loop or turn in ways you didn’t think possible at the end of the day everything will be okay. You need to realize that no love is perfect, that it can be a bit chaotic at times. But if you're fortunate you learn to hold tight. And to laugh after facing those drops. You learn that some rides are worth enduring."

She laughs. "You always know the right thing to say and the right thing to do". I smile because that is untrue. If it were I would of chosen a roller coaster instead of a 100 ft drop elevator for mine...