Heartbreak

Falling in love is a pretty spectacular thing.

The butterflies in your stomach when she calls. The way she smiles at your bad jokes. The wink she gives for your good ones. How her hair falls just so over her shoulder.

Tomes have been written about the subject.

But a very close second to falling in love is a broken heart.

To grieve over lost love is so uniquely human, that it can't help but be romantic.

To love is one thing - everyone can do that. Even a moron can fall in love. But to mourn lost love - to embrace the emptiness that comes with unrequited love - that, I think, is what separates some of us from the rest.

I remember one night in particular. And one particular girl.

We called ourselves Red Team, while my roommate and his girlfriend were Blue Team. The four of us had some great adventures together and were inseparable. For months on end, it seemed like Red Team and Blue Team were unstoppable.

Until, that is, Red Team decided to sleep with someone else.

"I think I want to stay here," she said, as I tried to leave the party.

And stay she did.

The next day, after I'd sobered up, I was in agony. I felt devastated. Annihilated. I sat at the pool all day, just staring off into the distance - smoking cigarettes. Writing.

It was beautiful.

You can't get that sort of inspiration on your own.

An amputated soul can move mountains.

So now, as an inevitable breakup with my on-again off-again girlfriend of two years grows closer and closer, I can't help but be a little disappointed that there's no real chance of any sort of heartbreak once it's finally over. Which is a shame.

Because sometimes I think I don't miss falling in love so much as I miss having a broken heart.