Ever since I found out about her, I’ve noticed how shitty Indiana weather is. One day, it’s raining, then the next it’s 80°, then the week after, you can see your breath whenever you open your mouth. And the forecast app on my phone always says the same; warm, slightly cloudy.

What made you think it was warm? The frost on my porch in the morning, or the fingers creating simple pictures or crude messages for the next batch of students, in the fogged up bus windows? Or was it the hat my mom forced to wear, in case this “damned Indiana weather” was to give me frostbite? 

Lies. They were all lies.

The difference between the lies the forecast app on my phone gave me, and the lies you continuously spoon-fed me for months was that the weather was always changing. We were not. 

And you built these stories; you used the unknown to your advantage. Yeah, no, I haven’t seen her, she’s blocked still, you mean the world to me, no, I’m not falling out of love with you.

And even when you told me over and over again, I still couldn’t swallow the thought that you might possibly be telling me the truth. 

It was sometime in the summer, where the weather was boiling and the days were infinite. I was in your car; your tight, suffocating car. The world felt like it was put on pause as if someone from up above was closing their fairytale book, and the world around me was closing with it. 

All I could think about was the fact that she was sitting in my place, that the warning in the seat wasn’t only due to me, but due to her now, too. 

That the barrettes from prom night littered across the car were now a piece of her memory, a small piece of me she took with her.

All I really remember is that tightening feeling I got in my chest when I looked at you. I barely remember the yelling, the crying, the buzz of emotions filling your small Toyota. The promises that were littered around me, like shards of a broken mirror.

I’m sorry I never told you, you said. I’m sorry, you said.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your mouth was filled with apologies, but you couldn’t swallow the leave me alone I gave you in return. 

And in that moment, I felt a ticking time bomb in my head. I saw the sand filter through the glass, as it slowly filled the bottom. 

Why was I not good enough for you? Why, after all, I have risked for you, was I enough to fill the space in your car? 

Why didn’t you love me anymore?

As all the “experts” preach about, a relationship is nothing without trust.

But we weren’t anything, we were everything. 

We were the long winter nights spent watching movies in your room, we were the first experiences, we were the exciting thrill of a late night movie, we were slow dancing in the park under faery lights, we were the emotional, heartbreaking ending, of a fairytale. 

But the one thing we weren’t, was infinite.

And as time slowly filtered through my mental hourglass, I found it harder and harder to look at you.

“You know, I love you so much. You mean the world to me,” you said. 

And that, I believed. Because here you were, sitting next to me, tears stained on our cheeks, our voices sore from the yelling. I didn’t need the validation that you loved me, I needed to be told that our relationship was nothing to you. 

But I didn’t say that. I couldn’t say that; with every fibre of my being, I was not soft enough.

I looked out the window, trying hard not to face you. All the messages I saw between you and her replayed in my mind, like a scratched up CD. 

You inviting her to the beach, you telling her how annoying it was when anxiety took ahold of the steering wheel of our relationship. Somebody had to control it if either of us weren’t going to do it. 

And the worst part is seeing you complain about me, after all the destruction you’ve caused me. The worst part was having to constantly apologize because your rose petal reminders and your apple-scented apologies were so nice and so sweet, and you’re such a handsome, young, talented, soon-to-be-successful, man.

If you aren’t going to marry him, I will, my grandma jokingly said during my 17th birthday party. 

I don’t think they realized how destructive those words were. I don’t think they realized how constant reminders of how wonderful you are slowly tearing me apart, piece by piece, and soon, I was too afraid to grab hold of the steering wheel again.

“What else happened?” I asked though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

The question hung in the air, until eventually, you cleared your throat, and started up the car. 

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I wonder why.”

Your jaw clenched, and I watched as he turned on the radio, in hopes that the staticky sounds would drown out the tension. 

We sat in silence, and every second, I waited for your words to break it. 

As cheesy as this sounds, I had a mental slideshow in my head, filled with memories and words and the faint sound of the static music, playing the time where we went to Chicago for the first time, the time we went to prom together, the time where we kissed until our lips turned blue.

And I soon realized that with every passing second, I was only living in comparison. A comparison of her, a comparison of happy couples, a comparison of how we used to be. 

I listened to my friends talk about their significant others as if they were their entire world, and I wondered why we never talked about each other like that. Maybe it was built up anger, maybe it was tension, or maybe it was just the fact that I wasn’t the world to you; somebody else was. Something about her was so captivating that you thought that she was worth risking our entire future for, and I guess that’s what scared me the most. 

But despite everything, I still love you.

You still shine brighter than any other star, you still occupy the space in my heart that is supposed to be reserved for myself. I love you and I’ve loved you more than I’ve ever loved myself. 

So as we sit here, in this tight, suffocating car, I can practically smell the frost coming off of your breath. I could make out the indentations in your arms where you held yourself due to the dropping temperature. I could hear the slight chatter of your teeth. 

But most importantly, with my hand wrapped around your heart, I could feel it grower colder for me. 

“Was it worth it?” I asked. 

“No.”

“Why?”

“It just wasn’t.”

I glanced around the car. I took in the empty pop bottles, the receipts, barrettes, the ukulele I had “forgotten” in the back, I glanced at your speedometer, and all the other mechanical controls I didn’t know the name of.

And my eyes stopped on the temperature. 

89° outside, yet I’ve never felt so damn cold in my life.

Lies. They’re all lies.