My Christmas present. The last present he gave to me.
"I saw it at the mall," he said, "it just screamed 'Chel.'"
It was a silver pendant to go on the chain of the necklace he gave me for my birthday two years ago. A little heart, no bigger than my thumb with a little piece missing -- the same shape as the tiny key attached on the same ring.
"THE KEY THAT FITS," the tiny heart read, "UNLOCKS MY HEART."
I loved it. Immediately put it on and haven't taken it off since. "Awww," is always the first reaction when people see it.
But back then I wasn't doing well. I was constantly in physical pain because of my neck and getting a bit of cabin fever staying with him in Canada. I don't know what I expected, and I don't know why several times I wanted to just go home. maybe it was because I missed my family, maybe it was the stress, maybe I just had too big of plans for Christmas and New Years. I don't know. Too high of hopes.
" i want you here by my side
--coldnights&fires&whitewine--
and dreams of holidays to come "
"Wait," I said, turning to him once while we lay on the couch watching TV. I held the pendant between my fingers and asked, "doesn't this imply that you don't have the key to my heart? Like my heart is still locked and I'm holding on to the key to give to someone? Shouldn't you be the one with this?"
"Well... if you want to take it that way," he simply said to me. I frowned for a moment but eventually just shrugged it off.
And then it came to me one day. Now that you are gone.
(i had to curl up into a ball on my bed&sob into my blankets--Lord,why why why can't i stop thinking)
The silver necklace my aunt had given me five years ago had a heart on it as well. It was a Christmas present, too, and I thought it was just the prettiest little thing. I needed jewelry that wasn't from Mitchell. So I wore it all the time. Never took it off. It became symbolic -- some wear their hearts on their sleeves? I wore mine around my neck.
"Guard your heart," my friends and family would tell me. I would touch the pendant and laugh. I was in control of my heart, then. No more violently jealous, lying, overprotective, cheating boy in my life. I was happy.
I fell far too fast for the wrong boy shortly after. I think I just wanted someone completely opposite of my ex-fiance. I gave him my heart within, quite literally, days. He liked it a lot. But jealousy paired with immaturity and a temper was a lot like when it was paired with lying and being controlling. He would yell and he would scream and he would throw things and he would hit----
..they found me lying in the closet staring blankly. i wasn't speaking.. ..i told him to keep the necklace after we broke up. i was just a mess. i didn't think i could possibly love again. not after a horrible ending to a four-year relationship and this six-month crash and burn. it hurt too much. not after being told i wasn't wanted anymore and that i was just too much and that i was too emotional and that i wasn't loved anymore.
But then who was there for me late at night when i was scared and needed someone to talk to? who kept himself awake at three in the morning with reruns of House so i would not be alone? who was there and always -- always -- offered to be there if i needed help? who believed in me when i literally wanted to kill myself? i had given up hope and lost all purpose? "you're better than that," i remember he said to me. and somehow i trusted him enough for that to convince me. huh.
"i failed you," he said half-jokingly one day when he'd just read my messages from the night before. the fact that he wanted to be there was sweet enough. i said he wasn't responsible for me -- i didn't expect anything, really.
funny how two years afterwards i would expect him to bring me the moon, and be so insecure that i start to doubt him? it wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. what was i, some sort of selfish heartless bitch?
i couldn't just be grateful for how little it took for him to be content. how much he could take, bend and never, ever break. how infinitely long he'd wait -- why would he steal the key for himself? he'd be invited in when the time was right.
"don't break it?"
"break what?"
"my heart."
"oh... that doesn't sound like me.
that doesn't sound like me at all."
His Christmas card from the year before is part of the collage in a frame next to my bed. “I love you with all of my heart and wish you only the best in life,” ends his handwritten message on it. Selfless, patient, trusting.
It's ironic, isn't it?
That the one boy who deserves the world -- the boy that deserves my heart, my soul, my trust, my patience, my love -- is the one who gave me my heart back.
In return, I demanded more and tried to shut him out.
(I'm sorry.
I'm so,so sorry.)
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