My kind of man

 There was a time where I undoubtedly  believed in the concept of moving on, a magical moment in the future where you forget the existence of that once loved person and life is suddenly, rainbows and unicorns dancing on the street. 

The whole girls’ nights and blind dates to speed up healing thing? Total nonsense, spoon-fed by media to make heartbreak look glamorous. Truth is, moving on is just a pretty little myth we tell ourselves so we don’t break down in public.

We don’t move on, the memories just collect dust as we try to tuck our ugliest, messiest moments in the back of our mind drawers. I do not want to be the one to say this but there is never going to be a day where everything blends into normal, just days where things start to hurt less. We don’t move on, we hide the sad, fuzzy feelings in a dark corner of our mind hoping that it doesn’t get pulled out by that cute sweater your once friend gave last summer. But that’s the thing, we never truly forget. Our hearts remember the scars, the wounds, all our attempts to bandage it, the cracks visible even through all the years of faux healing. I know, I never truly forgot the time I lost my first love. 

It was the time where I used to think that the power of single is unbeatable; the thought of having the freedom to do anything, anywhere was a pot of gold to my eye. But now that I’m a bit older — maybe a bit wiser — that impulsive, spontaneous self of mine has started settling down for the very things I used to think were boring and too monotonous. 

The videos I regularly watched about being ‘hard to love’ and being self-independent, feeding into this idea of being single a superpower. But now, those thoughts and absurd video morals crashing down to crumbles on the nights I cry myself to sleep knowing I might have just lost a diamond in search of potential gold. 

 

As you could see, I talk a lot about love and the complexities around it in my blog and one commonly cited theme is my fear of being unlovable. That fear of being hard to love, or perhaps unlovable is a constant one in my mind. 

Most days I spend pondering if my prince charming is out there somewhere, waiting for me but I’m scared I’m wrong. I’m scared I’ll be alone forever. It’s silly, maybe even comedic for me, a fresh 17 year old to worry about love and relationships but in a world filled with couples, I feel like 2, the prime number. I’m exhausted of my expectations not being met, frightened at the thought of what if I don’t meet my soulmate. What if I end up alone? It’s plausible. 

Social media is very impressionable in a way that it sets unrealistic, awkward expectations for innocent, mundane situations. I constantly compared why it took us three months to hold hands, eight months to kiss. I started seeing his shyness and slow chemistry as shortcomings, our flaws in the relationship as something being wrong, that we were better off away than together. But that’s the thing, a relationship isn’t just about the make out sessions and romantic dinners, it’s about an emotional connection. It’s something that would never be cultivated, just organic. Something that cannot be forced but just born from slow, vulnerable moments. 

And when we broke up that cold day in December, I didn’t lose just a boyfriend, I lost my best friend. 

Most days my heart pains thinking of him. The days I broke his heart and felt nothing for it, haunt me. I don’t think he knows but most days, I don’t miss him as my boyfriend, I miss him as a best friend. The days of innocent love running away from my parents, the late nights at the rooftop, and the video calls I never got tired of. The December 3rd sweater that still stays tucked near my heart. The endless compliments and support, I don’t think he realizes he was everything to me at one point, a rock in my life when everything was ever changing, a man who understood me when no one did. 

I don’t know if I made the biggest mistake of my life leaving but I’m sure of the tears that pour down every time I stay past 1. He might have been the love of my life and I let him go, a sad reality that I carry everyday with me. I don’t think a lifetime of apologies could ever explain the guilt and pain I feel in my heart these lonely nights. I’m sorry for everything and nothing. 

So no, this post isn’t about me regretting my choices in life, it’s about my deep set fear knowing I’ll probably never find a connection like I had with him. Our inside jokes that made me giggle, his cute eyes that lit up whenever I said something stupid or the feeling of his hand on my cheek the first night of Navaratri.  

Forgot to mention but I’ve been mustering up the courage to write this for 2 weeks now. Every time I try, I end up bawling my eyes out. Sorry! 

Hope everyone finds the love they deserve. 

-Sahana