Coming Back To You Read Free Page A

where you could see the intricate facets and shards
of each frozen crystal and not just a tiny white puff. Writing made
the memories more vivid. Details already forgotten would resurface
once she began pouring her soul through her fingertips.
    Even before writing a single word, the
memories tore at her heart, which was why, despite Macaulay
Culkin’s best comical efforts, tears streaked her face.
    After Mark left, a gauzy film had gently
shrouded the four months she’d spent with him, taking away some of
the vividness of her memories. But with the creation of her blog,
the film dissipated like fog in the sun and she recalled the
once-blurry details with painful acuity. And with each remembered
nuance, another needle pinpricked her heart.
    Why was she torturing herself? Why was she
unwrapping the recent past and stabbing herself in the heart with
it?
    Because Dr. Jan had asked her to.
    At the end of last week’s session, Jan had
said that writing about how she felt would help her process her
emotions and provide clarity. So far, the only emotion Karma had
processed was intense sorrow, and the only clarity she felt was
that she still loved him. But then, she hadn’t gotten much further
with her blog than choosing a template and a mochaccino color
scheme. Maybe once she finally began writing, the magic of blogging
her pain away would take hold.
    Still, she feared writing down her memories
would not only cement them in her mind, but also rip off the
Band-Aid from her wounded heart, which was sure to obliterate any
progress she and Jan had made toward healing it. But if this was
what Jan wanted her to do, she would do it. After all, Jan was the
professional.
    But before she could spill her memories of
Mark, she needed a blog name. Something meaningful yet obscure
enough that no one she knew could tie the blog to her if they
stumbled across it.
    She thought about it for a few minutes then
had an epiphany.
    Chocolate Chunk Brownies. She liked
the sound of that.
    Yes, that would work. The name was
perfect.
    After typing it out, she sat back and pursed
her lips as a fresh wave of emotion coursed through her, causing
another batch of tears to erupt on the rims of her lower
eyelids.
    A sad smile tugged at the corners of her
mouth as she remembered the night Mark had taught her the lesson of
the chocolate chunk brownie. Who would have thought a reference to
dessert would become the keystone to their entire relationship?
    “Damn you, Mark,” she said quietly. “Why did
you make me fall in love with you.” She knew it wasn’t his fault,
but it felt good to blame him and vent a little anger his way. If
he hadn’t been so damn perfect, she wouldn’t be so miserable.
    Satisfied with the look and title of her blog, it was
time to lay out her heart, strip herself bare, and use the blog for
its intended purpose. To let Mark go.
     
    They say you never forget your first true love…that
one special person who touched your heart before anyone else, and
who, with just a thought, can still set hummingbirds to flight
inside your stomach. He will always be there, even though he’s
gone. He will always hold a special part of your soul. A part he
ripped from your body—because it belongs to him now—and left an
empty hole that rejects any attempt to fill it with a memory. A
place that aches so acutely and with such intensity that you feel
as though you will never be able to breathe deeply enough
again.
    I don’t know who “they” are or how they came
to know such truths, but I know they’re right.
    Last May, I met my first true love. I’ll
call him M. He was a consultant where I work. Dark brown hair,
intense grey-green eyes, and a voice so rich and alive I could
almost wrap it around me like a favorite sweater. One made of
cashmere and the shade of buttered toffee, and just as delicious to
hear. He was over six feet tall and who cares how many pounds?
Every ounce of him was sexy. Ideal. Perfect in every way.
    From the day I met him, I