And remember: In the story of your life, you are the hero. Always.
For a while, I thought this was maturity. I told myself that “life with my relationships” meant lowering the temperature on desire in exchange for security. But slowly, a numbness set in. We stopped fighting, but we also stopped seeing each other. One night, we sat on the couch, ten feet apart, scrolling on our phones. I tried to start a conversation about something deeper, and he said, “Why do we always have to talk about us ? We’re fine.”
When I look back at the tapestry of my life, the most vibrant threads are inevitably the people I have loved—or at least, the people I tried to love. My history with relationships has never been a straight line; it is a collection of beginnings, messy middles, and abrupt endings that have shaped who I am today.
In the beginning, my romantic storylines were not my own; they were plagiarized from movies. I believed love was supposed to be loud, dramatic, and filled with grand gestures. My first serious relationship, The Poet , was a masterclass in emotional chaos. He would write me songs at 2 AM and then disappear for three days. The storyline was addictive: Will he stay? Will he go?