A letter to the great love

Posted on January 3, 2015


I guess it was inevitable my relationship with him would again end with little progress. Of course it would. For some reason though my expectations on this relationship always end up being so unmanaged, so seemingly over-egged, so to speak.

And I never really know why. One for the romance room 101 I guess.

When I break it down in my mind it seems to strikingly obvious to me though. It just doesn’t work. And sometimes emotional, unrationally emotional that is, people – can’t push through the neuroses in order to make it work.

So I’m going to recap to myself, on here, a record of the events/actions/conversations leading to this through a letter to him. That i’ll never send, obviously.


As always there’s some things that need explaining. I think sometimes we get so caught up in the emotional experience of us constantly hurting each other that we don’t get as much chance to take stock.

When I went travelling on Christmas Eve 2013 I was on a do or die quest for salvation really. I needed to re-find myself in as least cliched way possible. I needed something, anything, to happen. To switch up the game and pull me out of very dark thoughts and subsequent sinking depression. It had really gotten to me. That last attempt to give things a go. August, if you remember. I’d really believed it was going to be different this time. I even told my best friend about you, which was a big deal. You said we were celebrating, so I suggested we meet one Sunday, around 3 or 4 weeks after we’d initially hooked up. Do you remember? Perhaps the lack of meeting up in advance of that was the real warning sign, but we’d both been busy, and I know how you like to take things slow so I just rolled with it. It’s funny how things can be so ridiculously unacceptable and yet we find ourselves justifying them. Anyway come the day we’re due to meet, you were totally uncontactable. Not answering phone, not replying to texts. And i’m sat in the pub by myself and I can’t explain the way it felt. I felt like such a fool.

It broke my heart. I can’t even remember what happened but in the end, but by September or October time you were apologising to me, saying that you were in a bad way. That you need to learn how to love yourself, and that it’s fucking your head up because you know this thing isn’t done between us. I insisted we meet up to talk, we have that random horrible night in soho where I tell you that we’re never going to have a relationship, that’s it not something that will happen in the future and we argue about Theresa Caputo and say our goodbyes. I had a horrible night and felt awful the next day. I spiralled and we pretended we wanted to stay friends to try and take the edge off. I can’t remember what happened after that.

I returned from 6 weeks travelling in February 2014, with a new perspective. But I couldn’t get you out my head. I even thought I saw you at one point in a beach bar in Sri Lanka. It was the spitting image of you and it made me nearly have a heart attack. The romantic in me had thought for a fraction of a millisecond that maybe, just maybe, you had come to find me. I’m deluded aren’t I.

Closure from the Tsunami in Thailand meant one less piece of baggage returned via Sri Lankan airways to London but there was still a place in my heart for this story, not withstanding a darkness that would return. I contacted you asking to talk. Do you remember? We talked briefly. You hung up the phone and never called back in the end despite saying we should meet up. Maybe we texted each other for a while. Mostly late night texts, reminscing, and pining – or feeling lost and alone during March when 5 people I knew all died in the same month, and I was needing someone to reach out to. We never met up did we. You’ve since said you were giving it a bit of space.

You always do that. Say one thing, then do another. Which is the truth?

Then as to what happened next, its all a bit hazy. I messaged in May saying that I need to let you go. I meant every word of it. I wanted you in my life as a friend. Just a friend. Nothing more. But I know I still had feelings for you and that it was stopping me from being able to be just friends, so I said that I just needed time. I went away in June feeling excited for my trip to Kenya, but the sadness stayed with me throughout the summer. I grew depressed. I felt isolated and alone. I found myself really struggling with a hopelessness that I couldn’t shake. It wasn’t about us, that was in the past as far as I was concerned, this was more about me and my own goals and hopes for the future. I wanted to feel good again. I wanted to remember what that felt like. I would cry about James so much and I felt so sad about that. My friend that died in March. Him and me had a thing, you don’t know this. There’s so much neither of us know, you’ve never let us get that close. And yet we’ve always felt so fucking incredibly close.

You message me.

I’m thinking about you and you’re thinking about me.

You say you’re annoyed with me, that I hadn’t gotten back in touch you upon my return to the UK. I’m angry with you – who the fuck are you to get annoyed with me for not contacting you. Plus I never said I’d contact you, I said I needed time. You fret that I’m splitting hairs on a technicality. I laugh. The audacity genuinely surprises me. Always two sides to every story.

I say I don’t want to see you, that I don’t think its a good idea. It annoys you.

You’re so annoyed! After a while, it endears me. Confuses me. Why are you annoyed? You admitted you’re just annoyed with yourself, mostly.

Fast forward a few weeks and we meet for coffee. I had to engineer it though. You never make it easy. Nothing ever comes from you – you suggest meetings, talking or whatever, but its never actually you who enforces making it happen. You always go uber casual from the moment of suggestion and if I don’t make it happen, it likely wouldn’t. Do you know what that says to me? Does it ocur to you that your communication and logistics are way off?

When we meet, under rare circumstances for a coffee – I remember two things. You look amazing. Which is annoying. And you gently touched my back when I was plugging in my phone charger. It seemed like such a tender moment to me and it made it really tricky for me to build the case in my head that said you just weren’t really all that interested in me like that anymore. Which is what I needed to do, and you made it harder for me because of that.

I agreed to see you again because life’s too fucking short isn’t it.

I said I’d make it work, if you could make it work, because I can never tell if I make that mental adjustment if I won’t be left high and dry – physically and emotionally. It’s always hard for me to make that adjustment, but I do don’t I.

It was worth the risk.

My last night in London was just the right amount of awkward, and the right amount of amazing. There’s just something a little bit magical that happens when we break down those barriers and surrender ourselves to what the natural thing is for us to be doing.

And not fighting it, not being annoyed or feel rejected or being stubborn.

You said you wanted to be like that with me for a really long time, like six months or something, just exploring it and what it could mean. We joked that we needed to have more real memories than fantasy ones, and that we’d try to chip away at it when I got back. I held onto that thought for 8 weeks. I managed my own expectations about it realistically, I know that this is unlikely to end up with a horse or a sunset, but I had meant it when I said that I want to explore it for what it is. I didn’t want to sell myself short though. We left it with you saying there’s always email. I said goodbye genuinely not expecting to talk to you until I got back and being cool about that.

But it was hard.

I guess I thought when I was back in the UK, the communication would be a bit more reliable. So that’s why I snapped on Boxing Day. I’d asked if you wanted to meet up on that Saturday after Christmas and you weren’t acknowledging it. I know the timing was off with it being Christmas, and I know that its not always necessary to reply to people immediately, but I like being acknowledged. If nothing else. It was a tiny thing to snap over, but after year’s of erratic communication, silent treatment and no reasonable explaination for behaviour – I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m worth so much more than that. The communication (or lackthereof) is akin to that of someone who doesn’t care all that much, an avoider or a casual friend / acquaintance. And we’re so much more than that.

This isn’t my issue and I know some people might just accept this as the way you are – but I can’t work with that. It’s far too unhealthy and hard to deal with. It’s likely constant mini rejections and disrespects, and its hard to judge you differently from the actions of others because you don’t create enough scenarios for that understanding to take place.

Maybe this is it now, perhaps we’ll genuinely move on and this won’t be a big thing anymore and i’m sure that’s likely.

I suppose by writing this, besides the obvious cathartic properties of that, I want you to know how your actions and behaviour toward someone you profess to care about has affected them. I really do want you to be able to see how I have perceived this situation so you can check the role you have played that made that happen.

Yours always, in its own weird way…

Me x

Posted in: Journal, Letters