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We had this cute love story that lasted a while. We knew each other for two years and fell in love right when we met. Our mutual best friend had introduced us. He was tall with dreads. He was from France and had a fancy accent. Actually, I had a hard time understanding what he was saying even though we spoke the same language, but nonetheless, his soft brown eyes made it all okay.
We spent two great weeks of visiting Montreal in the freezing cold. It was February. He wasn't equipped for Canadian winters, but we managed to make the best of it. We’d cuddle and kiss and things seemed like a story from a fairy tale. And then came one of the hardest moment of my life…saying goodbye at the airport. There's that saying that goes “the airport sees the most sincere hellos and the saddest goodbyes…” or something along those lines…well, this was a sad goodbye. I knew I loved this guy, but there was nothing I could do to keep him here. He needed to go back to school and I needed…to stay here and work.
So, he left.
With the time difference, it was hard to keep in touch, but I worked in a bar and when I’d end my shift, he’d be waking up to go to school, so we’d chat a bit. Everything was fine, and then something pretty disheartening happened between him and I (which I will spare the details) and, this fairytale ended.
A few months later, in May, I visited him in Paris while on a Eurotrip. We had an okay week; nothing too spectacular, but I was relieved to see those warm eyes again. We visited the city and ate dinner by the Seine river. We loved each other as best as we could and tried to make the best of the time we had together. And then it was my turn to leave. There I was in the shuttle to the airport, tears streaming down my face as I was leaving the guy I loved. I didn’t understand our relationship at this point. Honestly, it wasn’t a relationship, but it was…something. Needless to say, I had strong feelings for him, but I knew I would probably not see him again. So I let the tears stream down my face and thought that the warm beaches on Lagos would make everything better (and they really did!).
We stopped talking. I believe it was for the best. We weren’t physically together and we weren’t able to be together, so we saw it fit to kind of ignore each other, or simply forget that each other existed. This was working perfectly until this summer…when I get a message via Instagram asking if I would like to go for a beer with him because he had moved to Montreal.
My jaw hit the floor. I was flabbergasted, to say the least. I had pieced together my life without him. I had loved him so intensely in the past and was destroyed by his actions and careless and selfishness that I would be stupid to go see him again. How could he have the guts to contact me again and ruin all the progress I had made in my life without him?! I'm not that stupid, I won't go!
After our beers, those feelings were back. I hated myself. We had a few drinks and he kissed me and I knew I was fucked from that moment on…my heart was beating faster and I’d wake up with a smile on my face. His texts would make me giggle, and the snapchats he sent me, well, made my heart race a little. Needless to say, this guy had taken over my thoughts, yet again.
He eventually asked me to be his girlfriend and I happily agreed, and things were fine for a bit. We were having fun and everything was new and magical and giggly and blah blah blah! But he wouldn’t text as much, he didn’t ask how my day was, he didn’t really make plans, he just didn’t seem to give a fuck, so we fought, broke up, and got back together. This happened three times. He didn't understand that communication was the basis of any relationship and, for me, I felt love via words and not necessarily through actions. But his small brain did not comprehend, so we fought.
Fast forward to Christmas time. He’s back home in France, surrounded by his loved ones and his friends in a comfortable environment and me in southern Ontario with my mother. I get a text at 6 AM and he’s breaking up with me. I wasn’t shocked and, frankly, I wanted to leave him, too…the more time I’d spend with him, the more I was losing myself and the more I was realizing that those warm eyes were actually just hazel eyes, and he, well, he was quite boring, and not very intelligent, and did not talk much. I was frustrated and annoyed, but what bothered me the most about the situation was his lack of respect towards me and the coward move to break up with me via messenger. I mean, c’mon, how lame and how much of a coward do you have to be to do such a thing? It just discredited the whole relationship.
It was at this moment that I realized that love was not a real feeling. That love in 2017 did not exist, but rather intense lust. When things get even remotely hard, people give up and change partners as if they were on Netflix and changed shows as soon as they got bored. Why can’t we work shit out anymore? Why can’t we love or believe in fixing relationships? Are we so numb to everything that we believe love no longer exists? What gives people the right to break hearts as freely as some do?
I might never understand these questions, nor I do have any answers, however, what I do know is that love is no longer a true emotion, let alone this idea of a stable and committed relationship.
I’m heartbroken, but I’m alive. I’m healthy, I have an apartment and food in my fridge, so this breakup is just another bump in the road. If I can get over this stupid bullshit, imagine what YOU can do! Don’t let the bastards get you down (as Rihanna would say).