Why Heartbreak Is Never Even: She Wanted You, But You Needed Her

A woman can choose to be in a relationship, even get married for many reasons. A woman can commit for convenience, security, money, love, infatuation, children, or even fame.
A man will commit himself to a woman for one reason, love.
Our egos lead us to pretend as if we don’t need her, and that we are in control when the very mention of her name, the essence of her scent, and the strike of her smile captures every part of our being.
We are hooked, mesmerized, even smitten with the power of who she is.
You can’t wait to share with her every excitement, anomaly, even failure, of everyday, because you know she is going to listen as if it were the most bedazzling of tales ever told.
When you have a bad day, the gentle touch of her soft fingers on your brow can remove the stress of a thousand torments, making them all distant memories in that moment.
When we are tempted to complain, maybe even toward the barrier of retaliation, it is her presence that alone can tame the inner beast that lies within. We need her, and while we are afraid to admit to our friends, they need her too.
A woman is more than adequate on her own, able to mask her frustrations with many a substitute. She can transform her emotions off and on again with the ease of a light wind.
A woman can interrupt her pain with a phone call, a good cry, perhaps even a night with the girls, and while hurting, maintain her present course and determination to get what she wants.
Her ability to navigate her priorities through her sorrow, perhaps even choosing temporary pain if it will alleviate long term regret, is why we need them, and they only want us.
When we hurt, we are devoid of any notion of tomorrow, trapped in the present and endless pit of necessity. Our spectrum of time is frozen, suspended in abhorrent animation.
We want only her, everything else fails in comparison. We cannot eat, hang out with our friends, and may even miss a few days of work because we cannot hide our pain.
We might even turn to the affections of another, who of like species seems to possess the solution to our somberness but she is not HER, nor could she ever be. Gentlemen, if you love her, tell her.
Plead your love, earnestly and unequivocally proclaiming your love for her. Explain in tremendous passion, yet painful detail how much you need her. Tell her how the perfect sunny day pisses you off when she is not in your arms.
Tell her how faint your breathing becomes, as you check for your own heartbeat.
Tell her, how much her smile brightens even the darkest days, of which now you are beholden.
Explain the futility of your existence, the desperation of your soul and the thirstiness of your embodiment since she has gone away.
And, if you truly love her, admit to yourself that you need her. If you soon realize that you don’t need her, then you never loved her at all.