the love that almost made it

some love stories aren’t written by our desires.
or even by our hearts.
they’re written by life itself.

I was still in love with him.
not in the fairy tale kind of way.
not with hope or logic.
but in that ancient, unexplainable way your body remembers someone.

he lit up every nerve in me.
my skin. my longing. my fire.

it was not like I wasn’t happy with my own life—
I fell in love with him before I met my boyfriend.
and in fact, before my now-boyfriend and I kissed for the first time
(on our second date, back home on my linen couch),
I looked him in the eye and told him:

“just so you know, there is someone who has a place in my heart.
it’s not like we’re living it, but still—the place is there.”

he said,

“you don’t owe me anything.”
and then we kissed
and didn’t stop for a whole while.

ever since that day,
my boyfriend and I talk, see, and hear from each other every single day.
we fell unexpectedly hard for each other—
so hard that he is now about to move to my chosen city,
just to be with me,
with my daughter,
and now kind of our dog, i guess?

so anyways.
before this magical man with stable emotional availability
and a stable background came into my life—
my heart, body, and soul were lit up by someone else.

and I did hope I would just forget about him,
now that there was this amazing partner in my life—
but I didn’t.
and I stopped feeling sorry for that.

and yes, I know, I know—
this is not your fairy tale, mainstream kind of love story.
but hear me out:

It began when I was twenty.

wild. curious. electric.

i met him through a beautiful womans message—
she said,

“I showed him your picture and… he loves you.”

I had no idea what the hell I was getting myself into.
I was raised kind of really protective.
my body count was maybe at 3ish.
I was still shy sexually at times—
curious for sure—
but tbh being naked in front of somebody else still scared me back then.

but not with him.

we met—
I remember seeing him in the middle of kreuzberg.
we walked into a bar,
and our knees touched under the table.

I have to say,
I do have a thing with my knees
they are kind of antennas of how soft and wild i want to be with someone.

so with him it was one of a kind.
it was like my body remembered something ancient. something true, it didn’t feel like a game and as we kissed i felt my whole being melting.

There was desire. fire. a kind of erotic pulse i hadn’t known before and haven’t found since.

we didn’t talk much.
we didn’t date.
we never had dinner or cuddled after sex.

but he became the only ongoing affair I ever allowed myself.

it wasn’t love in the conventional sense. but it was real in the language of touch. In the way of oursouls meeting through bodies and recognizing each other. I remember speaking to friends about it and wondering if there was something wrong with me for being even able to relax physically so deeply with someone I knew so little about.

And for the longest time I didn’t even know that love could even grow from something like this, because well it was just so ,,dirty”

my soul caught fire in his presence. And for some reason I felt safe, secure & seen while all the rules of what is actually needed to make me feel that way did’t apply here, at all.

years passed.
i moved cities.
became a mother.
built a life.

and every time he texted me during those years,
I chose to ignore it.
not because I didn’t want him
but because I did. So bad, every message from him send my pulse to heaven.

BUT I was choosing something else:
loyalty. stability. and the hope of family
a vision of love i still believed in.

and then…

I came back to my hometown.
heartbroken. broke. exhausted.

holding my daughter in one arm and all my grief in the other.

depression followed.
like a gray, heavy coat i couldn’t take off.

I started to build a life set on rules society had set out—
for people like me:
smart, talented, but broken by life.

the energy and curiosity I used to have:
gone. vanished.

and then there was this one event in my city.
I remember knowing I belonged there.

and on the days of the event—
depression won.
no energy to get up,
get ready,
leave the house.

just scrolling.
netflix.
emptiness.

I hadn’t felt alive in a long time.
everything felt dull. meaningless.

and then there he was—again.
in a picture from this exact event I didn’t attend.

lit up on my screen like a memory
I didn’t know my body still kept.

and for the first time in months,
i felt something stir.

desire.
life.
fire.

I ignored it for a long time.
took it as a sign
that maybe it was time to move back to a more exciting city
with more options
more life
more mating potential

I thought he was just there to remind me
that life still had something sparkling
fiery
curious
something wild enough to wake me

but to my better judgment
the more exciting my own life became again
the more present he became too

his memory
his energy
his echo in my body
they didn’t fade
they grew

I had healed depression
in fact
I was on the other side of it

now feeling fully alive
daily
fulfilled by the life I was creating

there was little conventionality about my life now
I had sworn to myself—
to take my desires
my body
my truth
seriously

like really seriously
no more pretending
no more postponing

to be continued.