Posted by Sophie Westrope on August 17, 2015 · Leave a Comment
I have only known what I can only hope was ‘real love’ once in my 23 years of life thus far. And recently I’ve been silly in thinking that being in contact with the culprit again may mean that there’s a chance, after almost three years since breaking up, that there might be something there still. Even after there have been a string of flings on my part and two relationships for him between now and then. But still, ignorance is bliss, right?
Usually I’m not one to openly admit my feelings (I see it somewhat as a bit of a weakness. I even cringe at the mere mention of ’emotions’ *shudder*) but with him, I always find myself, right back at square one, back where I started, feeling bewildered and lost. Hoping he’ll rescue me and show me all the love he couldn’t the first time around.
While I have always been a strong advocate of ‘you can’t be friends with exes’ (You just can’t, okay?) somehow I always make an exception with us. Even though I know it’s completely dumb and just really asking for trouble. But there you go. I live, I don’t learn, I make the same mistakes over and over. And then I delete his number at four am on some idle Tuesday and vow to never contact him again.
And it’s never because of something he’s said either.
It’s not because we argued about our past or possible future or rather lack thereof. It’s, in all honesty, mostly a result of things he didn’t say. Things I had imagined he would. Scenarios I’d created and dreamed up over and over in my head that never played out. How I’d imagined we’d reconcile in person as well as through the screen of our iPhones.
Of course, as always, nothing worked out the way it was supposed to. And he is none the wiser of the way I felt or feel or how I’ve been incessantly overthinking everything he’s said via text message and read into a ignored reply or the time it’s taken for him to view my Snapchat. And you can call me crazy but I know I’m not the only one who’s done this before. Because for a start, I’m a teacher currently on summer holidays so you can imagine how much time I have on my hands and secondly because he was my first love. They’re not meant to go away. You’re always going to have a soft spot for the boy who broke down your walls and let him love you, right?
Wrong.
Life is not, contrary to popular clichéd belief, a fucking romantic comedy. It is not some terribly directed movie. And if our ‘romance’ was put onto the silver screen it would be shockingly poor and I’d probably be played by a whiny young Amanda Siegfried with a terrible British accent and a bad haircut. And he’d be played by some insignificant oaf of a new actor. And it would flop and not even make it onto Netflix.
And life, it goes merrily on. And if you’re reading this aforementioned male, I’m sorry for being a complete fruitcake. Move on with your life, pal. Find somebody to talk to who isn’t a hopeless moron.
If anybody wants me I’ll be over here waiting for the ground to swallow me whole.
