A thousand stories are in one day. A million. A billion. One day is another thousand, million, billion. And the next there’s more and more and more until there isn’t a number that can say how many stories there are.
There’s your story. You met a boy. You fell for him. You didn’t want to but you did nonetheless and once you’ve fallen, you have to go through hell and back to get back up. You know that and you still fell. And for a time it was wonderful, wasn’t it? Transcendent even. But the same way you fell into love, he fell out of it. And you wondered if maybe he didn’t fall out of it. Maybe you didn’t break up because you were no longer in love, but because you were standing right in the middle of it, and you didn’t know where to move. And you hoped and hoped until the hope broke you more than he did. So you gave up. And you moved on. And you fell in love again and again and again until there was a boy who didn’t fall out of it and didn’t run away when he was in the middle of it. And there is story after story after story. Until it’s the end.
And then there’s his story, the first boy you fell for. The one who broke your heart. He met you. And from the moment he laid his eyes on you, he knew you would change his life. For better or for worse he had no idea. And that terrified him. And so he fell, the same way you did, knowing how hard it would be to get back up and doing it anyway. And he loved you. Inside and out. But he was still terrified. He didn’t have the courage to love you the way he always knew you deserved to be loved. And he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping you from the person who could. So he let go, for both of you, while he was standing right in the middle of the only love he would ever know. And he left the only person he would ever love. And he knew he loved you and only you because he gave you up so that you could be happy with someone else. And then came story after story after story, without you in it. But he never forgot you. And he never would. Not even after his story’s ended.