This is the opening of a fictional short story entitled ‘Live With It’ I wrote in college. (Shoutout Professor Lin-Greenberg.)
Falling in love is shitty for a lot of reasons. First and foremost you don’t ask for it, and you don’t know when it’s going to happen. The universe gives you no time to plan before your life is about to change. One day things do inevitably change though, and that day comes for everyone, or at least I think. I mean I don’t know, I’m sure there are some people out there who are just content with living a life filled with masturbation and XBOX games, and as sad is it is to say, I’m beginning to envy them. Now, I know that some people will disagree with the idea that falling in love is shitty. But, I think everyone can agree that heartbreak, the inescapable end to most love stories, is a sensation not that dissimilar to being forced to watch the movie Marley and Me a day after your childhood dog dies, while also being kicked in the groin every ten minutes just for good measure. But the worst part about heartbreak is not the immediate pain on sudden impact—or even the pain that lingers weeks, months, or even years after. No, the worst thing about heartbreak is how fucking cliché the whole thing is. People don’t want to hear you whine about it because they’ve all been through it too. Despite their words of support and encouragement, they’re really just thinking “you should get over it.” But we think to ourselves “how could anyone possibly understand the pain that I’m feeling?” We all become giant narcissists the moment directly after being rejected. You’re not special because someone tore out your heart, marinated it, and grilled it on a lit barbecue. And I’m not special because I went to college, found a girl, fell in love, and got my heart broken. But just like the millions before me, I’m going to tell my shitty, stupid cliché story—because mine happened to me so therefore it matters.