Continuation from Part 1: Don't worry, I don't write sappy blog posts. 

You know how all great loves are supposed to feel like, based on the books you read and the movie you watch – perfect. One fine day you meet and then happens a collision of the universe and your world will never be the same again. I was a believer of the Big One. That man that’s going to change my life forever. The love so brilliant it’s going to consume me whole.

I met a man that’s fair and just. Very idealistic, extremely ambitious, sometimes a little clumsy, but very warm-hearted and sociable. We started off too quickly, too much, too passionate, too soon. It wasn’t the kind of relationship I expected. There wasn’t space to breathe, no time to think. It happened accidentally, right in the moment that I wasn’t looking for anyone to love.

I can admit this outright to anyone who asks me now. I had an open relationship. I couldn’t say that with a straight face before because it wasn’t a concept that was widely accepted by the society. But we were both young, high, and too much of rebels to care about what others thought. So here’s how it went:

1. We could kiss and have with other people we don’t have feelings for.
2. Once we start having feelings for other people, this relationship will be over.
3. We will never kiss and have with anyone in the same city (so it was Glasgow for us).

On normal days, he is a great man. I swear. He is a great listener. He gives heartfelt advices. He was charming and sympathetic, and I was in need of validation. On some other days, however, he could be hard to handle. One, he was still in love with his first ex, but continued to be in denial of his own feelings. I was pained that he was broken. They were separated by two-hours flight, and I was in a relationship with a man who kept the hope that they would get back together someday. It took a lot of tears, snots, and courage to finally confront him about his feelings. That was the first time I told him how scared I was of losing him, but I was letting him go all the same, because he needed that closure. He needed to hear from her own mouth again that they were never going to work anymore. She had moved on with someone new.

The high was as crazy as the low. One week we could be at the top of the world, telling each other sweet-nothings like the future. The other week, we would be questioning each other’s existence, like how I was never going to be good enough for him and how he would never match what I wanted. One thing for sure, though: he had not loved me in the duration of our one year-relationship. When I asked him about that, I could see how his answer was shadowed by the reflection of his ex, and how I could never measure up to the kind of feeling she gave him before.

He was the first person to look at me in the eye and told me what kind of person I was – not the pretty (I know, I’m kinda self-obsessed this way), bulimic girl who struggled with insecurity and family issues. Not the cheerful, optimistic girlfriend who tried to hide the darkness looming above her head. He saw the raw emotion inside of me, the storm and the destruction and all that magnificent powers that I held inside – he poured it all on me. He was the first of all people offline that knew I wrote and that I single-mindedly wanted to be a writer like JK Rowling one day. He saw me at my lowest and embraced me whole, only to leave when I was at my best. Ironic, isn’t it?

I spent two years writing six letters, three blog posts, three articles, and three novels dedicated to him. I spent two years chasing after the same sunset that we saw in Spain. I started a project called #CHASINGSUNSET to look after that conclusion with him, which never came in the end. Of all the remains he left, I only remember the snowy wonderland in Paris, the tender kiss in that train to Arrochar, the setting sun in Formentera, and the unstoppable tears from Manchester to Singapore when I heard One Direction – Love You Goodbye (it really hit home at that time). I also remember his smile, his voice, his touch, his scars, his beauty and that drunken Christmas message he sent me.

I still couldn’t write down all of our one-year together, because it feels so intimate that I have to share all the details with you – something I couldn’t do until all that remains fades away. One day I will write a novel about all my failed relationship, and in the dedication page, you would see his name in bold.

To Mr. XXXX. Here’s to our youth. Thank you for being my first muse.

TBC to Part 3