My story with M is a short one. I can’t say it was love; it was too short-lived to get to that point. I’m sure it could have. On my part, at least. But as much as I might try to write about him, I will never manage to put into words the excitement, the joy, and hope at the idea of someone new that he awoke in me. In the beginning, I mean, cause it all came crashing down in the blink of an eye.
We met on Tinder, nothing new or original here. I wrote to him, partly because he was hot (yes, I know, I have a type), but mainly because he had studied at the same uni abroad like me, and that immediately put a smile on my face. I have very fond memories of my time there and I guess I was hoping to recapture that era.
We talked for a few days before we decided to meet up. He was amazing in writing. Fun, witty, a bit sarcastic, but also sweet in a way that wasn’t at all cheesy. I knew he kind of reminded me of someone, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. You know how you sometimes have this electric online connection with someone, but then you get painfully disappointed when it doesn’t translate in real life? God, how I prayed that wouldn’t be the case with my M. It wasn’t.
Now that I allow myself to remember the first time we met, I feel this huge hole in my stomach. I know a good therapist would say that I’m repressing my feelings and that’s not okay but fuck it. I refuse to think about him. It hurts too much.
We decided to meet at a rooftop, which normally would have been a bit flashy for my liking, but at that point, I felt like being flashy. I wanted to enjoy an indulgent moment with a glass of rose and a warm July sun. I remembered I couldn’t find the entrance to the place, so I called him to guide me. I don’t remember his voice anymore, but I know that it made me weak in the knees. A couple of minutes later, I saw him. He was so tall and gorgeous. His smile was perfect. He was perfect. We talked, we laughed, we shared a smoke and a few glasses of wine. Or gin. Can’t remember. It was a sunny afternoon, and he offered me his sunglasses so I wouldn’t squint. I wanted to kiss him right then and there. My cheeks were hurting from all the laughter. The way he talked, the things he said, that cheeky grin on his face… I kept looking at him, trying to understand who exactly he reminded me so much of. And suddenly, I knew. He looked so much like… me. That sounds so strange, doesn’t it, but it did not strike me at all as strange. There have been times in my life when I’ve struggled with feeling at ease with myself, with liking myself. But at that very moment in time, looking at him… I was happy with him, I was happy with myself, and I felt he was my chance to be happy forever.
Late in the night, he walked me home. We stopped in front of my building, hugged goodbye, and we each turned to leave. I took a few steps and then I stopped, and I turned towards him again. At that very second, he did the same. We looked at each other and then, just like in the movies, he ran towards me, I jumped in his strong arms and I had the second most magical kiss of my life. I have no idea how long it lasted. It felt like forever and still not enough.
He texted me when he got home and for the next few days, we would talk, send each other songs, and soon I knew I had fallen in love. Or something of sorts. The next Sunday we met again. I was so happy, so hopeful. To now realize that that would be the last time I would ever see him, still makes absolutely no sense to me.
It was the most exquisite, fairy tale date of my life. One for the books, really. I have this yellow, lacy dress that is so pretty, but so ridiculously tight on me (maybe I should just work out more) that makes me feel so incredibly happy, but that I swear only fits me 2 times a year. Tops! That day it fit me like a glove. I remember the smile on his face when he hugged me and told me I looked like summer. Like the sun. We met at a cute bistro where he ordered I can’t even remember how many eclairs. My favorite dessert. With my favorite guy. Afterward, we went to see an Italian movie in this old cinema, but I felt like I was living my own perfect movie that day. At one point, he turned around, in the dark, and kissed me again. Yes, I know how it sounds. A couple of horny kids making out in the dark. No. It was the softest of kisses, while he held my hand. So different from the breath-taking embrace in front of my house. But just as beautiful.
The movie was soon over, but we still couldn’t get enough of each other. So, after so many hours together already, we started walking towards a beautiful bar garden. Just as we reached it, it started to rain. We quickly ran to grab a table, laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world. We were happy. Both of us. I remember the waitress looking at us, smiling nostalgically, the same smile I would plaster on my face when I used to look at happy couples. Wanting to have what they had. Or maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me. We continued laughing and sharing stories while taking some sort of shelter under the tree branches. I remember feeling like everything was almost staged. It was too perfect. My dress, my hair that curled impeccably from the rain, the white t-shirt he was wearing.
I don’t know how much time passed before we paid the bill and called an Uber. As we were making our way out of the garden, I can’t remember if we both stopped, or if he stopped me, but I got on my tippy toes and we kissed again, under that light drizzle. Me in my yellow dress. In his arms. My most magical kiss.
The Uber dropped me off first, and he got out of the car to kiss me again. Just a quick goodbye kiss before he got back in the car. The kind of kiss you give in passing because you never imagine that will be the last time you get to kiss them. But it was.
In the meanwhile, I obviously deleted all his texts, but I remember I got home that day and he wrote to me that I was perfect and that he already told his mom about me. This was it. After all the stupid, immature frogs I had been unfortunate enough to kiss in my days, I had finally found the person who I was destined to be with. Because he was just like me. Except he turned out not to be.
We already made plans to meet on Saturday because we were both busy during the week. The thought of not seeing him for 6 days was so cruel, but we kept texting, sending each other songs, so I told myself good things come to those who wait. On Friday morning I woke up around 8 to get ready for work and I saw I already had a text from him. He told me he couldn’t wait to see me. I remember thinking that only I guy whose head over hills for someone would text something like this at 6 in the morning. I walked on cloud nine all day. Saturday morning came and I texted him to wish him luck because I knew he had an exam that morning. We were supposed to meet afterward. Hours went by with no reply. And, in my heart, I simply knew. I knew something incredibly ridiculous and heartbreaking was about to happen to me. The whole day went by and still no news from him. Nothing. The anguish I felt… I simply cannot put it into words. That Saturday and Sunday I couldn’t eat, I barely slept. I knew it was over, but I was still in denial. I texted him again on Sunday evening, I had to know what had happened. I would fall in and out of sleep, dream all these absurd replies from him, wake up startled, and would desperately check my phone. The answer did come early on Monday morning and, honestly, nothing could have prepared me for it:
‘I kind of fell in love a little bit with another girl on Thursday evening, so I don’t think I can see you anymore.’
That was it. No ‘Hi, Girl’, no ‘Bye, Girl’. No ‘I’m sorry, I’m a lousy SOB’. No common decency. But the fact that he, instead felt the need to tell me the who, the when, and the how much still baffles me to this day. I texted him back then:
‘Is this a joke? So, if you fell in love on Thursday evening, why did you text me on Friday morning to tell me that you can’t wait to see me?’
I didn’t get an answer, nor did I expect one. I don’t need it; I don’t care to know any other details that are simply utterly unnecessary for me.
Of course, these words tormented me for a very long time. Of course, I wondered who this girl was. The girl who tarnished my love and my future. But you see, it’s not her fault.
I am guilty of falling too soon, too fast, too head over heels for a guy I actually knew very little about, simply because we had a compatible sense of humor and I saw in him an extension of myself. But while I am sure I did see things in him that reminded me of myself, the rest was nothing but my naivety and longing to have someone in my life. And not just anyone, but my other half. No, M was nothing like me, so it is for the best that our story was simply a short black comedy. I didn’t see it at the time, but I see it now. And this story doesn’t come with a sequel.