Inga

The flickering of the pink neon lettering reflected in the rearview mirror while we sat in silence in the almost deserted parking lot. The past week seemed like a slow build up to this highly undesired, but for the most part necessary, moment. The damage had already been done, and we had each said our fair share and then some. We slowly exchanged the cleverly crafted letters we had written and continued in silence as I scrolled through my music to turn on the most appropriately emotional songs to further mimic the cliché movie scenes. You had always reminded me that life and love were not movies, but that night I decided to disregard your life lessons. Although the dimly lit car truly tested my eyesight, I was thankful that it masked some of the mess the waterfall of tears caused. I leaned over and took you into my arms as your body shook tremendously and your eyes relinquished the expanding puddles onto my shoulder. This was the part I had always feared most when it came to love– the heartbreak. What was I to do with the leftover pieces? I quietly begged you to swoop in with superglue before the pieces were able to crumble completely, but deep down I knew it was my job to put my pieces back together, not yours.