When to Let Love Go

By, Melissa R. Mendelson

The human heart is a pool of glass. Through the warmth of love, it molds into a rose, a beating flower inside my chest. The cracks, splinters, and lines that run throughout it is nothing but the evidence of all the trials of life that I have endured. Yet, the only times that my heart has shattered has been the times when love let me go, and the sound of glass breaking is the sound forever echoed inside my ears when I am the one that breaks it. But to live your life, rebuild your heart of glass, you sometimes have to let love go.

I met him in 2001. He was charming, funny, smart, and he didn't seem like the type that would hurt me. I felt safe with him. I opened the doors to my heart to him. Then, he pulled a chunk of glass away from me.

A year passed, and I decided to give him another chance. Maybe he changed. Maybe I was wrong. I was alone, and so was he. So, I gave him one more chance.

For two years, I gave him my heart. I reminded him of how fragile it was. I worried about him chipping away at the glass during the times when he did not handle it with care. Still, he held it, and he held it with a vice.

A realization fell upon me. I didn't want to admit it because my life was now shared with him. Still, it lingered, and then it grew persistent. Finally, I could ignore it no longer. I knew that I did not love him.

Breaking away from him, I reclaimed my heart. I found it cold. It lied heavy in my chest. Did I really want to leave him? Did I truly not love him? Why did my heart feel so bitter?

Another realization gripped me. He wasn't going to let me go this time. He refused to have his heart shattered to free me. His icy grip hugged my heart, and I have struggled to wash his touch away.

For three years now, I have rebuilt my life. I chased my dreams, and as my dreams took another step closer to this world, a new warmth washed over my heart. A small glow filled its corridors, and I could feel it beating again. There was almost a singing echoing within the glass.

Still, as I typed away on the computer and then walked through the cyberspace to admire my accomplishments, I could feel him on the other side of the screen. He was still watching me. He knew my dreams were growing, and he knew the places, where they lived. He would continue to follow me, refusing after all this time to accept the fact that I let him go.

I do not love him, and I had a choice to make. It was his life or mine. He could be happy with me, and I would be miserable. Or I could break his heart or try to break it just to free myself from him because this is my life, my love to give. As long as I'm with him, I'll die away and watch my heart fall to pieces. As long as I'm free, away from his touch, I'm alive, and I'm still dreaming. He just has to learn when to let love go.