Forever is the sweetest con
Reflections on first love and the illusions of forever
Article and art by Kylie Haney
“I’ll probably show up at your door one day,” you said, tissue in hand, tears in your eyes. This was the second time I’d seen you cry in three years, but it was a long time coming. We agreed this wasn’t working. For once, our love wasn’t enough. We had survived many fights, and we wouldn’t make it out of this one unscathed, but we still loved each other. This fight, though trivial, was a devastating weight all coming down at once and crushing everything we had built. As we said goodbye, I asked you for one last kiss, then watched you leave as I struggled to breathe.
I still remember all of our “firsts.” Our first date was at the movies. I thought you’d be late, but there you were, waiting for me. Our first kiss was fueled by desire. As our lips touched, the sparks in us burst into full flames. Our first “I love you” was a promise we thought would last forever. But love is a fragile, often fleeting flame, and even our blaze had to burn out.
I always made fun of other couples for being naive enough to believe they could have a future together. But with you, I wanted to plan it all. In AP Biology, we fabricated a ridiculous life. We whispered in class and laughed until it hurt, dreaming up a fantasy outside of our hometown. We planned to visit Australia together one day, because you had seen a beautiful sunset there before and wanted to see it again with me. For our anniversary, you gave me a promise ring, a tangible symbol of our commitment to each other. I wore it every day because I believed in its promises of devotion. When I doubted that devotion, I would read the letters you wrote me. I would trace the shape of the words on the page, feeling the love that you had poured into it. Each one ended with the same promise: that I would always be your world. That we would have a future together where we could escape and build a new life. We made all of these promises we couldn’t keep for a future we couldn’t have. But still, we tried.
For some reason, I thought we could defy the odds. We had made it this far, and our love was special, right? Long distance never worked, but you said that it could for us. You promised you wouldn’t leave because we worked, because even in our worst moments, something seemed to be working for us that wasn’t for others. Even with the distance, our love was still strong. You said it felt wrong to be so far away from me and that you would pack up and move to Colorado if you could. But we stayed together over a thousand miles apart, texting and calling when we could find the time. When you didn’t have time for me, I returned to the letters, reading your promises to love me forever, to do anything to hold onto me. We made so many promises, but they were all the wrong ones.
The funny thing is that we survived the distance–it was once we were back together that we came to an end. Our goodnight selfies were becoming infrequent, three words becoming two. Yet still, the fight came out of nowhere, out of a black Nissan Altima in the Chipotle parking lot. It was stupid, but at the time it felt like everything. After a silent drive home and a dreadful conversation, it all came to an end. Except it didn’t. It wasn’t a real end because you promised to show up at my door. You promised us the story your parents shared. The story where the boy shows up at the girl’s doorstep after years because he still loves her and can’t imagine his life without her. Even a month later, when we encountered each other again in that hotel room, you said you still stood by your words. But now, where do you stand? You tell me not to count on it, yet you don’t close the door altogether. So where does that leave me? You’ve left me suspended in my delusional hope that some part of your promise was true. I’m left thinking about all that you said, trying not to hold onto every word. Even though I returned everything you’d given to me, I kept all your letters. Your promises stayed with me even though you didn’t.
You promised to always be there for me; I promised to always remember how good we could be together. You promised to love me until the day you die; I promised you would forever be my always. But some promises are made to be broken. You’re no longer here; I’m beginning to forget you. You don’t love me anymore, and I’m finding new forever’s. Of all our promises, that last one of your return, still haunts me. That one would be the worst promise for you to break. That promise should never have been made in the first place. How am I supposed to go through my life holding on to the empty promise that you will come back for me? This isn’t a fairytale, or the rom-com love story your parents shared; this is a cold reality where distance and time matter. Now, I need to promise myself that I will try to let you go, try to forget the deceitful promise of forever.