I rifled through drawers. I shoved my hands in coat pockets. Nothing ... until the last coat. I pulled out a tiny little baggie. I’d never seen heroin up close before.
The pain of first love breaking cuts deep.
My mother’s famous love advice echoing in my head. “Were you born to live happily or to suffer? Only you can decide.”
He came in.
“I’m leaving. I can’t be with you if you’re doing drugs.”
“No. You can’t. I love you. I’ll stop.” Pain and fear radiated from him.
“I have to go.”
_
Editor’s note: I’m sending THE biggest thank you to everyone who came out for My Favorite Breakup’s third anniversary party and breakup story slam this week. We completely sold out (!) and got to hear more than a dozen excellent stories, ranging from teen kiss tales to meal-centered reminiscences to actual poetry. I laughed so hard and felt so warm. Huge shoutout to our excellent speakers, including the brave folks who volunteered during the open mic portion. We should do it again some time, eh? -jz
P.S. As always, you can submit your own anonymous breakup story right here.