41 – The Sun Makes Me Nostalgic

4/27/22

Years ago, I loved a man who couldn’t give me his heart.

Maybe you’re thinking, “Leah, that is no novelty.” And you’d be correct – regardless, I’ll continue. The sun makes me nostalgic.

He was my first love, and I’ve never burned brighter. We were friends; I was struggling, and he was steady. He was struggling, and I was steady. I went away for the summer, and he wrote me love letters. We would text all night until one of us fell asleep, and each morning, he would remind us how many days were left until we were in the same city. Sixty-four. Thirty-two. Twelve. One.

Love blinded me. He was still struggling and I was still struggling, but I had caught a glimpse of myself through his point of view and I couldn’t look away, couldn’t give it up. And one night in October, he told me that the timing was bad, that he was sorry, that I shouldn’t wait around on him and I couldn’t see the road home through my tears. I hadn’t felt pain like that before, and I haven’t since. My love for him changed me. My heartbreak over him changed me.

The sun makes me nostalgic, but it’s the depth of feeling that I’ve been mulling over. The timestamp of pain in my memory. His permanent importance because of what he drew out of me. And I think I miss this – all of the feeling – as much as I miss being in love. 

When I think back, every moment of heartbreak has brought me closer to myself. It has reminded me of my inarguable humanity, my frailty, my best attempts and messy failures. I’ll clarify that I’m not on a mission to recreate the experience of first love or first heartbreak, but I do think I spend too much time detached. From others, from myself, from failure. I don’t try, and then I get upset with myself for my lack of trying. Maybe, if nothing else, these words are a reminder for myself (and you) to feel something today. To do something, to show up messy and make your best attempt to love. One day, years from now, the sun will make you nostalgic. You’ll remember your pain and all of the parts of yourself that you found in it.

Lightly,
Leah