When Marnie came over, I literally had to crawl across the floor to buzz her in and unlock my door.

My plan for sorting through my feelings in a way that’s not overwhelming has not gotten off to a good start.

But at least I don’t have to force myself to feel something.

I don’t need a song to remind me how to feel. I don’t need alcohol to make me feel more or less. I’m feeling everything and nothing. I feel Vince in every pore of my body as much as I feel his absence.

Eyes closed, I feel Marnie take my hand and place something smooth and squishy into it. I don’t have to see to know that it’s a Capri Sun juice pouch. This may be the last time I smile, even a little bit, for the rest of my life.

“Sit up,” she says. “Drink up.”

I do. It’s my favorite flavor—tropical punch. A sweet reminder of what summer is supposed to taste like, instead of tears and self-loathing.

“Thank you,” I say meekly. “Can I make you some tea?”

“No. I brought back my shoulder to cry on. It didn’t get used at all the last time around.”

The last time around. “Oh God. This is my second break-up in two months.”

“Yer on a roll, kiddo.”

“I spent three years in a relationship with Russell and didn’t shed a tear when he dumped me. I spend just over a month with this guy and now that it’s over I feel like something has died inside. What’s wrong with me?” 

“First of all there is nothing wrong with you, Sunshine. Secondly you didn’t cry for Russell because you knew exactly what you were going to get with him and you were relieved you didn’t have to keep getting that shit. It’s sad about Vince because you had a glimpse at how great it could be and you’re never going to see it come to fruition. And that sucks. It feels like you’re dying inside because your lady parts are never going to rub up against that beautiful man’s body or sweet mouth ever again.”

“Marnie!”  

“Sorry.” 

“Oh my God! It’s true. He told me he fell in love with me and I didn’t even respond. It was so unexpected! He must hate me.”

“No.”

“Yes. Whether he was into it with Sadie the other day or not I probably just drove him back to her.”

“No.”

“Yes. I hate me.”

“Honey. You were trying to protect yourself.”

“I’ve been trying to protect myself my whole life and the only time I’ve ever been really happy was when I stopped doing that.”

“It takes a lot of practice to get used to a change like that. It’s like learning to ride a bike without the training wheels. Maybe next time you’ll get the hang of it. Find that balance.”

That sends me into another humiliating fit of sobs. “I don’t want a next time with someone else.”

“It might not be with someone else.” She waits for me to stop hiccup-crying before continuing. “I mean, I’m no shrink. But it seems to me that you’re both pretty similar in really important ways.”

Sniff. “Sexually?”

“Well. Sure. But also emotionally. You both have abandonment issues.”

“What?! No we don’t. We aren’t needy. I mean, I’m not. He’s definitely not.”

“It goes the other way too. Emotional distance. Sound familiar?”

I stare at her for an eternity. “Dave is the luckiest guy alive.”

“Oh, I am not this understanding with my husband. He’s wrong about everything. He’s just lucky I stick around long enough to fall in love with him over and over again.” She holds out her hand, which I take and squeeze, with more gratitude than I could say with words. “You’ll have that one day too, honey. I know you will.”

To further illustrate my poor judgment when deciding to come to Bloomington for ten days in August, it has been so humid that when I cry outside on the back porch, my tears never evaporate.

My parents, strangely, haven’t been as worried about me as they were several years ago. Maybe it’s because I’m not depressed, I’ve just been so, so sad. Or maybe it’s because my Dad’s finally figured out how to get his hair to look awesome with the putty that Vince recommended, and that makes both him and my Mom too happy to worry about their lovesick daughter.

Or maybe they’ve noticed that I’m starting to get better, even though I haven’t communicated with Vince at all since seeing him at the restaurant.

The space that I thought I needed in order to sort through my feelings has somehow only been filled with more love for Vince. It’s a cruel joke. Returning to Bloomington, a few years after leaving because I didn’t want to be reminded of my first broken heart, trying to escape Brooklyn to avoid running into my second broken heart. But there is a difference.

Probably without planning it, Vince has broken my heart open. I may have lost him. He may stay mad at me forever. I might never see him again. I may still be mad at him for being so stubborn. But I love Love again. I get why people fall in love, even if the relationship doesn’t last. We don’t shun summer just because we know it doesn’t last forever. We revel in it. I will never regret one second that I spent with Vince, and every single word, kiss, look, feeling, moment that he gave me in the span of weeks will live in me for a lifetime.

The mess we made really is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever known.

I’ve never really understood why people get tattoos before, but now I just want—now I need—to have something permanent on my body, to show how I feel on the inside. To show that it won’t change, even when circumstances have.