3 Years Later

“Have you ever been in love?”

Such a simple question with such a complicated answer.

We all understand love differently. Some speak of “sincerity”. The brave ones mention “control”. The shy kid lands on “effort”. Most people describe “comfort” without them realizing it. But I stay quiet, and I stay still. We all think we’ve been in love because at that moment in our lives, it made sense.

Yes. I’ve been in love once. I knew I was in love because all the songs made sense.

I still remember the cold shiver running through my hands the day I met her. All dressed in white with tricky eyes and an enthralling attitude, she knew she had me from the day I landed eyes on her. More prominent men than me had fallen for her charm, and I still led myself to believe I stood a chance. And she played along.

Under the raging sun and the piercing rain, she would walk with me along the Brooklyn Bridge, just so I could catch a glimpse of the sunset next to the city lights. She would take the train with me after midnight so we could go to Washington Heights and see each other, eye to eye, under the red lighthouse. She would force me to go to brunch on Upper East Side every Sunday Morning before buying a train ticket so we could climb the Hudson Highlands in Cold Spring, or go running on the empty shores of Jonas Beach Island.

I still taste the Guinness from all those Monday nights she would take me to a dive bar where a group of friends played traditional Irish music until their voices and fingers gave up. My body is still sore from ending our nights with a house jam on Lower East Side, where we would pack our sweaty clothes and take our heavy grins deep back into the heart of Brooklyn. I left all my fears on that famous library on 5th where we would throw ourselves into one of the aisles and read comic books until we couldn’t decide which one was better.

Three years later, I see myself, and I can’t remember who I used to be. I pushed away all of those who reminded me, and for that, I am not sorry. I am more myself now than I ever was in the past.

It happened slowly. Quietly, snatching my attention with every passing moment, until one day I found myself thinking of our life together. Without thinking, I started being honest.

Now, she knows everything about me.

Every secret, every tear, every smile, every fear. I became the Virginia to her Langley. But she is the Tardis to my Doctor. Unpredictable, incomprehensible and untamable. I won’t ever know all her secrets. And that is ok. I don’t think any man could handle them. Knowing everything is not the synonym of happiness or a good relationship. Some things are bound to stay hidden. When she gives me 10%, I give 90%.

Now, even if we have to say our goodbyes, I will always be grateful. Thanks to her, I have such high expectations. I learned how to be alone and enjoy being single. I learned how to feel confident with myself and not try to impress anyone. I learned how much I am worth and not to settle for less. I learned to do what I love and not what others expect from me. I learned what I want with my life and how far I will go.

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