by everending

Created on: January 10, 2009

She broke up with me on her birthday. I remember the moment she lied back on the grass, cheeks painted with tears and rain. Only, she was not crying for me; she was crying for herself.

I first met Maria at a local chain restaurant, the friend of a friend of a friend. We did the introduction thing, with my salutation being along the lines of, "Hi, I'm Eryn's gay friend," since everyone seems to care more about my sex life than my name. I sat across from her at dinner; every time I looked up from my food, I looked into her eyes, or at her nose. Both scenarios left my heart pumping a little harder than normal.

I hyperventilated when I left; she drove over the curb. And so it all began.

There were less shallow reasons as to why I fell in love. Being in her arms rivaled a religious experience; I had never met such a spiritual person before, someone in such complete control and balance. She made Atlas seem inadequate at carrying the world on his shoulders. Her room, like her past, was saved, sorted and labeled; from birth through graduation, first steps through last baby teeth, her life was chronicled in photographs she swore she remembered smiling for. And although I will never understand vegetarianism, there is something almost blasphemous about eating imitation meat products when you come from a family whose motto is "Where's the beef?"

It took a while for me to realize Maria's faith was not exactly user friendly. She was in love with herself, only herself. She did not believe any other kind of love existed.

I will admit, I was a little blinded by emotion because it took being dumped for me to see all of this. She believed herself to be her Goddess reincarnated. But no one judges my self-worth except me, and at that moment, when she told me it was over, not because she loved herself more than me, but because she loved herself more than I loved myself, at that moment I developed an ego. And my God did it feel good.

I spent too many years having no self-esteem over the fact that I had no self-esteem when in actuality it was there all along. It just took a slap in the face from an unshaven Greek to wake it up. Maria was, and still is, the personification of everything I never want to be.

I moved on when summer ended. I remember the moment I lied down in bed, cheeks painted with tears. Only, I was not crying for myself; I was crying for her.

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