He Left Me Without Saying Goodbye

He Left Me Broken Heart

Breaking Up Is Hard: He Left Me

He was my best friend, my rock, my reason for smiling every day. From the time I turned sweet 16, always there…in just the right places. I delighted in the way he made me feel. There was a spring in my every step…I could practically dance the night away. It didn’t matter if I filled up on Waffle House bacon and eggs or five chicken soft tacos from Taco Bell at 3a.m. with my gal pals…he’d work it off (wink wink).

Throughout my twenties, I reveled in my ability to tame him. I admit my will to do the right thing was never very strong…but so what? I had him, he had my back even when I would royally mess up. The partying, drinking, sleeping till noon, or even rolling into work after 2 hours sleep, I could do it because of his strength. I never knew how much I relied on him………..until he left. He went out with me on the night before my 30th birthday, but when I fell asleep that night, I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him.

No good-bye, no note, no warning whatsoever. He left. He left me for someone younger. Well, not just younger, I admit, probably someone more intuned with his needs, someone not as arrogant and self-absorbed as I. Basically, someone that gave a damn.

There are times I think I have finally accepted his leaving. I go shopping and I’m reminded all over again. Every pair of jeans, a cute form fitting dress…..the snugness is too much, suffocating…I usually leave in tears only to wallow in the shoe department of Macy’s. Is there any wonder why I own 100 pairs of fabulous strappy sandals, fly boots and every indigenous reptile skinned pumps?

Its been almost 10 years this July, and he’s not coming back. I realize this. I’ve moved on, attempted to regain some semblance of balance in his absence. But it’s not easy, each day is a journey. I walk and walk…some days I think I see him and begin to run…just trying in my desperation to maybe, somehow catch just a glimpse of him. I speed up thinking if I can just catch him and grab him and explain and apologize….but alas, it’s not him. He’s gone, not coming back

My sweetie, my love, my boo…………………


Published by

Brown Sugar

Lives in music, sits down to read like she’s at the Feast of Heaven, enters every room like a queen or a spy, reads faces the way a gypsy reads palms, knows sex the way a nomad knows the desert’s shifting sands, needs laughter to breathe, eats in celebration of taste, works joyously, loves uproariously, smiles insightfully, dreams delightfully.

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