Half Broken Heart

I think I may be suffering from a half broken heart. I didn’t break the entire thing (I wouldn’t let that happen… that’s too messy and obnoxious), but I definitely broke at least a small piece of it… and maybe up to half. Enough to make it hurt and enough to make it hard to breathe for a few hours.

“40 Year Old” moved away.

I had sent an email to “40 Year Old” earlier in the morning. It was his first day on the new job. It was a quick note wishing him luck and asking him when his last official day in Minnesota was. I was burning CDs at Dutch’s apartment in the evening, when "40 Year Old" emailed me back.

“Hey Sweetheart, Thanks for the note. I absolutely love the new job. Everyone has been awesome. I can see myself at this place for a long time. (His enthusiasm was apparent.) My plans have changed a bit. I guess I’ve already had my last official day in Minnesota. (Did he say already?) I arranged for the moving company to pack and move all my things today. I rented my place out to my old coworker and he moved in this afternoon. I’ll be back this some weekend later this month, but I’m not sure when. I still have a few things to wrap up with my house. Take care and I’ll talk to you later. – 40 Year Old”

I choked when I read this. I wasn’t ready to hear that. (I held back any tears… I didn’t want Dutch to see, but I think he knew something was wrong.)

Had I known that when I dropped “40 Year Old” off at the airport last week, that it would be the last time I saw him… I would have held on a little tighter and longer when we hugged… I would have kissed him a little softer and longer… I would have… I don’t know… I just wish I had known.

It hadn’t set in until that moment that he was really leaving. He’s already gone. Yes, he said he was stopping back in the next few weeks, but I don’t think I want to see him. I’m not going to call. I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it already does. I don’t want him to see that this hurts me. (This is ridiculous! I've only known this man 4 1/2 months! I hate feeling this way!)

Dutch walked back in the room. (He knew something was wrong, but didn’t ask… he didn’t have to.) He walked up behind me. (I quickly closed my email and pretended to be busy picking out more songs to burn.)

“Here Janie, listen to some Beyonce… it’ll make you feel better.” (He put the headset over my ears and turned up the volume.)

I looked at him and shook my head, “You’re a weirdo Dutch… Thanks.” We both started laughing. I finished burning my songs and we went out for dinner.