a love story

"Let me tell you a story", she whispered into his ear. 

One of fiction and make-believe, the sort of tale that blurs our world and fantasy. 

A story of love and loss, of life itself, and a girl who wanted so bad to be part of it all. 

Don't be fooled into thinking this story is any one like those I've already told you. Don't confuse the characters for the face in the mirror, and please no questions until the end. 

"Let me tell you a story", she said and without waiting for his nod, starting telling it anyways.

They always say that love comes when you least expect it. Like as if those who looked for it would never receive it because they were doing just that, seeking. She always hated that saying, proclaimed by those already caught in the whirlwind of love that they offered out pitiful remarks to those still on the outskirts, like crumbs of bread to keep their hunger at bay. A tissue to wipe their tears. 

She'd spent her whole life obsessed with love. This craving to be loved and to love, to smile so wide and fill her heart with the feeling and stories that she hoped would be worth it. It seemed ironic then that her heart always chose the wrong people to fall for. That she seemed to gravitate towards the unrequited and the unavailable, despite avidly searching in the other direction. 

The curse began when she was 19. A little bit of a dramatic noun for the whole 'never being loved' notion but that's how it began to feel these days, like a curse she couldn't shake. All around her people seemed to be able to find their partners, to find the feeling in the simplest of places, as if falling in love was as easy as going to the grocery store. She just always seemed to get lost. 

It all began with a love that should never have been. One which surprised her with ferocity and comfort, blurring the lines between friendship and more. The type of person who she felt you knew in the deepest parts of you was your perfect match. Needless to say when you're struck with love for the first time, you can often mistake delusion for true feelings. Is it possible to even fall in love, without there ever being a real chance at it? 

A longing that lasted way too long. Years of notebooks filled with pining and regret, anger and hope. Memories of tears on bathroom floors, sobs to friends with incoherent mumbles of confusion and guilt. The worse part about this love was the way it made her distrust herself. The way she second guessed experiences and her feelings, convincing herself that perhaps it was all in her head, that she was being silly for reading into something that wasn't so. 

She was in some ways proud of how it ended. How after being pushed and pulled for so long, never actually given anything in return, she cut the chord, a single moment forcing her to use the scissors on the invisible string that tied her to a person who really didn't care at all. A person who wanted it all, without wanting it in the slightest. It didn't help the healing go any quicker, and she would say today that she'd always still hold a part of that love within her, how she's not sure if he ever came back to her, she'd be able to say no. That bit always hurt her the most, knowing that he still held some power over her, that despite the pain he would always live in her hurt. 

Emotionally exhausted and carrying a heart that was needless to say wounded, it's only in hindsight that she can see how the curse followed her again, how she almost encouraged it and clung onto it for the fear of being hurt again felt like the worse pain she could bear. The curse felt like protection; she would rather attract a sub-form of love than deal with the real thing. Surely that would hurt less. 

Yet, regardless of intentions, her heart still fell again. A few years later, after what some would say is a sufficient time for 'self growth' and 'being alone' bullshit. This time with ease and simplicity it was the sort of courting that felt so right, like this is what she had been missing the whole time. While there was the awkwardness of nerves and fear in misunderstanding, there was also this overall sense of assurance and security, like she knew she was headed in the right direction, that this is what she had been waiting for. 

Five months later, it's safe to say that rose coloured glasses can distort reality. In the heat of the moment she'd forgotten to take them off. She was so scared of protecting her own heart, she became this downplayed version of herself that she thought would guarantee that he would stay, that he would love her. She didn't try to start arguments, she didn't even really try to fight at all. "Just smile and nod", a part of her always said, that way nothing can go wrong. 

The security she'd felt in the beginning was perhaps never really there. A title can only give you so much. A first relationship is highly likely to end anyways, but that didn't help the heartbreak. The positive was that she actually allowed herself the space to grieve this time, it didn't feel taboo to talk about or to cry over because this time she almost had the proof and reasoning that it had been real. But in a way it didn't really make the pain less or more. 

The heartbreak in many ways ended up being one of those blessings. The pain you would never chose but end up being grateful for. She blossomed in new ways, got to know herself better, and realised in many aspects that she already had the love she'd spent a greater majority of her life looking for. She became to appreciate the friendships she had, the relationships she could nurture rather than feeling like she had to search for another one, this startling realisation that love doesn't just have to be romantic. 

Distractions were good, the highs and lows of dating provided those stories to tell friends over a glass of wine and in a few ways she learnt to love the curse, laughing off small flings with the notion of 'how does this always happen to me?'. Being pursued and wooed, only to be ghosted a week later, falling into the traps of intense texting, people running late for dates, flakiness, and unhinged behaviour from herself and them. It felt nice to let herself have fun, to fall into the laughing off of rejection for a bit, to use it as a security blanket and ignore that niggling feeling that kept growing in her stomach, like if she admitted to her fears they would become real. If she really tried and admitted that she still wanted love, a romantic love, it wouldn't happen. It was in this moment, for the first time, she allowed herself to believe the mantras the people around her spouted, 'it'll happen when you least expect it'. They seemed happy, maybe they did know what they were talking about. 

She wrote instead. A lot. She unpacked all the loves or what she thought were loves before. She still kept them in her heart and she still spent some nights crying over them. But with time and distance she could understand it all a bit more, understand herself and why things had happened, why she'd let them happen. She told herself she needed to be exactly that, just herself. That despite the subconscious lures and traps she felt like she had to cave to, the right person would pick her without her having to be something else. 

It was in this way, focused on elsewhere and proclaiming a relationship was the last thing she wanted, she stumbled into the next, convincing herself it was unexpected and perhaps because she hadn't been looking at all, it was destiny. Fear and apprehension bubbling in her stomach, she told herself for weeks that it was nothing more than a friendship. That felt easier than admitting she was falling into the delusions again. It felt easier than acknowledging that despite all the work she had done, all the journaling and reflection, she was so close to possibly repeating history, falling into a longing that could likely last longer than it should, blurring the lines between friendship and love. The worse thing was she knew it. From the first moment she knew the end but the allure was too intoxicating. She chose ignorance over reality.  

"If you never admit to your feelings, can they even be real?" she thought, convincing herself that the space he took up in her brain every day was completely normal. The way she became slightly obsessive over someone she barely knew, yet would tell absolutely everything to. 

The thing that later hurt her the most, was the realisation that she was perhaps the most authentically herself she had ever been. That without really ever being romantic, parts of her had fallen so much harder just because of that. Because she felt like he could truly see her, and that she let him in despite being so terrified.  

Was it her fault? For knowing from the start that things were doomed, for choosing people who ultimately did show her they weren't hers, but ignoring them? Was it simply her desire to be loved that drove her to accepting and wanting the people who ended up hurting her, or was she subconsciously choosing them because she was terrified of being hurt? Somewhere deep inside, even though she wanted love so bad, was she also absolutely terrified of it?

"The story doesn't really have an ending yet", she told him as she looked up, the glimmer of tears coaxing the bridge of her eye. 

You see, the writer is still in the works of figuring out that one. Perhaps the 'she' learns that love really isn't that much of a big deal. Maybe she fights her biggest fear and realises that being alone isn't the worse thing in the world, and if that's her fate, she will ultimately survive. Or perhaps it has the twist of a fairytale after all, and she ends up meeting someone, finding her big love that makes all these moments of hurt and heartbreak worth it. 

This story isn't just hers. It's not mine, and it's not yours. This story is ours, it's for everyone who wants a love so bad they often end up self-sabotaging and accepting any form they can. It's for the people who do the work, the self growth and deep-dive journalling, yet still make mistakes. It's for those who are going through a heartbreak and can't see the light at the end. For those who have lost their big loves even after they spent so long looking for them. This story may not be your story, but it's a reminder that we all have them. We all have characters and loves in our lives which we carry with us, both in our hearts and our souls. 

Love is a tricky thing. It's never going to be easy, not when you're trying to find it and not when you've got it. It's one of the biggest joys and pains of life and despite it's hurdles, I still find myself absolutely drawn to it. To the stories of others, to the whirlwinds that are my own tales. 

"Don't forget to write yours down" she said, "the good, the bad, and even the really really ugly. Maybe one day it'll all make sense. Or maybe it won't. Either way, you'll want to remember it." 

- O