I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house
That don't bother me
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out
I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while
Even though going on with you gone still upsets me
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok
But that's not what gets me

I’ve had lots of time this week to get off campus and drive around. I’ve been all over: Eden Park, U.C., Newport and Covington. I’ve gone downtown and perused the streets beside the stadiums. Last night I lied awake listening to the thunder coming in through the open window. Some days are easy, some days are hard. Sometimes the smiles and the laughter is real, but sometimes it is something surreal, a mask I wear to hide the feelings and emotions, everything going on within me. It’s on these random drives throughout the Cincinnati area and lying wide-awake at night despite exhaustion that the pain becomes the worst. It’s when the memories assault me, blanketing my every move. A knot forms in my throat and tears well up in my eyes.

What hurts the most
Was being so close
And having so much to say
And watching you walk away
And never knowing
What could have been
And not seeing that loving you
Is what I was tryin' to do

This is the pain: for all my life, I’ve been a “hopeless romantic.” I remember standing on the deck outside my home last summer and explaining it to her this way: “I don’t want sex or making out. I just want someone to talk with, someone to hold close, a girl who doesn’t shiver at my sight but draws close. Do you know how much it hurts to see girls awkwardly pull away from you? Do you know how many times my friends have been hugged by girls—even at church—but the same girls ignore me, give me the cold shoulder, or at least stomach their uneasiness and give me a gentle handshake? It kills me. I want a girl to find comfort in my arms, but I don’t think it will ever come. When she cries, I want to hold her. When I cry, I want her to hold me. I am a romantic shunned, looking around and seeing sex-mongers, cheating the romance out of girls, leaving them hollow, slutty shells. The rape of all good and true. I want a girl so badly, a genuine and authentic, loving and cherished, a beautiful and captivating girl to find refuge in my arms, to cry no more. I want to go to candlelit dinners, to hold her by a fire, to feed off her warmth under the stars, to whisper in her ear, ‘It will be okay.’” I paused a moment, then said, “Why is it so elusive?”

When the semester came, I met a great girl. I told Caleb, “She’s the most wonderful, beautiful, amazing girl I have ever met!” We talked for a while and started dating. She was everything I’d always wanted in a girl. She was the first girl I’ve ever loved. Yes. I loved her. Sometimes I wonder if I still love her. I remember thinking, “I’m going to marry this girl.” That thought thrilled me. How could God grant me such grace? I wondered. And the day I fell to my knees and thanked God for answering my prayers, she told me, “I’ve lost my feelings for you.” She was heartbroken because of the break-up, but her tears have dried up. Mine continue to flow. My heart aches all the time. It’s so painful, being so close to my dream, having so much to say to her—“I love you. I want to be with you forever. I want to build a family with you.”—and then watching her walk away, watching the relationship shatter. I wonder what I did wrong, how I messed up. I am furious at myself for my mistakes. I made mistakes, yes, but I loved that girl. I didn’t know what I was doing, I was trying to be the good boyfriend, but I was flying blind. As I visit the haunts where we had spent time together, my mind carries me to wild yet uncontrollable conjectures: “What could I have done better? How could I have shown my love to her better? Maybe then it would have worked out. Maybe then life would be beautiful.”

It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go
But I'm doin' It
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone
Still Harder
Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret
But I know if I could do it over
I would trade give away all the words that I saved in my heart
That I left unspoken

Everywhere I go, I walk down the dark streets where memories dwell. I stumble upon their dwelling-places and they creep into my mind. It’s a difficult battle: fighting off the emotions, the feelings, the questions, the doubts… A struggle against the pain. It’s hard to smile when I see her with my friends: it returns to me the memories when we were all together and everything was great, and I smile and act happy but inside, I am dying. I go about my daily routine—getting up, getting dressed—but regret haunts me. “Why couldn’t I have been everything she wanted? Why couldn’t I make her happy? Why couldn’t I be the boy she wanted me to be? How come I wasn’t adequate enough for her?” I wish I would have begged her to try and work through the problems. I wish I could have told her, “I love you,” and heard her whisper it back. But that’s not how it worked out. That’s not how it’s going to work out.