The Big 'O': Part 3 of 3

If you’ve read the previous parts of this story, chances are you would have already sensed that there isn’t going to be a happy ending for ‘O’ and I. In case you are someone who thought there was a happy ending, then I hate to break it to you; there wasn't. I wouldn't have been told to make this blog if my life was that straightforward now would I.

Sunday came around and I was so excited to see him, despite knowing it would be the last time I would. To cut the story short, (wow, am I actually not going to go on for once?). We didn’t have our planned date. We didn’t go out. Instead, he came over, looking a little worse for wear, but still gorgeous, and we just stayed in. He told me all about his nights out and birthday, and how rough he was feeling now. He apologised for being in a state and not wanting to go out. It didn’t really matter though, I was just glad to see him. I mean sure, it would have been nice to go out dressed fancy, and show him off. But as long as I had his company, I didn’t care. And you know the phrase “kiss me like you miss me”? Yeah, well, we definitely kissed like we had missed each other.

We spent the night chilling and cuddling mainly. We introduced each other to our music. His being very different to mine, and different to anyone else I’ve known. But that was 'O' all over. Saying that, it wasn’t totally horrendous though - I could tolerate it, and he was surprised, and found that funny. Then we found an artist we both like, Jorja Smith, and so listened to some songs. ‘O’ even had me watching these God awful cooking videos on YouTube that he had been telling me about since the first time we met. As dreadful as they were, there was something funny about them. Since he subscribed me to the channel, I’m still watching some of the videos now.

So, because ‘O’ turned up with no coat and wearing clothing without pockets, I had to tell him about the letter. He asked if I wanted him to read it right there and then, which I didn’t. I wasn’t ready for the goodbye yet, I wanted to enjoy my time with him. Especially my last time with him. He asked would I mind if he read it the following evening so that he could really ‘take it in’, because without me saying anything, he knew the reason behind the letter. I said that was fine.

‘O’ stayed over and we slept together. By sleeping together, I actually mean catching some zzz's and sleeping. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly. Being next to him, and all cosy in bed with him was almost surreal. I was so content. “I wish I could take you with me” he said, followed by a sigh. For once, I didn’t know what to say. I wished for nothing more too.

Falling asleep in his arms and then waking up in them was wonderful. Really. Though the sound of our alarms meant one thing, and one thing only. Goodbye. Neither of us wanted to get up, I mean who does on a Monday morning anyway? We lay there for a bit, mostly in silence. Accepting that this was it. An hour later, he really did have to go. We kissed each other all the way to door, and that’s when I could really, for the first time in my life, actually feel my heart starting to break. Despite being in previous relationships, this felt a hundred times more real, and a hundred times more agonising.

Neither of us knew what to say to each other. When I saw his face, I saw genuine sadness. He could barely look at me, and to be honest, I’m glad. Because I think if those sea blue eyes of his would have looked at me, I would have cried. We hugged tightly one last time, and I watched him walk out; the door closing behind him. I stood staring at the door for what felt like decades, in some sort of trance. He was gone.

The Aftermath… 

I didn’t know what to do with myself that day. Or the days that followed actually. Being honest, I still don’t know what to do some days now. I’ve never been much of a crier, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry like a baby for the first few days. The crying wasn’t helped by the fact I was watching romantic films though, (I don’t help myself, do I?). 

This is what real heartbreak is. Whatever I thought I had experienced before with previous relationships could not be further from what I was experiencing now. I felt lost and hopeless. I know how crazy it all sounds because we barely knew each other. Yet, at the same time, we did. We really did. Trust me, if you’ve ever been in love, you’d understand. And if you haven’t been in love yet, consider yourself lucky.

As each day passed, I typed out so many text messages to him. Only to delete them, and not send them. My thumb hovered over the call button almost every night, sometimes several times a night. All I wanted to do was see him, hear him, even read a text. Anything. I tried convincing myself that I could do it, see him until October. Make the most of the time we had. But in reality, I’d be fooling myself if I thought I could do it.

We exchanged a few texts here and there, asking how each other was. I didn’t want to make him feel bad, or any worse, but I really did feel fucking terrible. Of course I went about my day-to-day life, but naturally my mind would wander to him. How was his day going? How was the lab? Has he gymmed? What’s he doing now? Is he this sad too? It wasn’t easy. I ached to see him. When we did exchange texts, he told me how he had been considering dropping out for the last few months, but also how it took him going through that to realise that this was what he really wanted to do. I understood, and I would never think badly of him for that decision. I would probably do the same thing. 

Just knowing that we were in the same city; just a short walk away was the worst part. 

"Can I come over?"

"It wouldn't be right..." 

"You're right"

I didn't want to be right though. 

I won’t lie when I say that I didn’t look at options for myself. I spent days online, nights too, researching ways I could finish my degree where he was going. But there wasn’t any. OK I thought, gap year? That wasn’t easy either. Plus, having already had one ‘gap year’ from university, I probably shouldn’t take another. I did consider it though. I really did. If the gap year option was easier to do, I would definitely do it. I would have told my parents that I was off to X for the year to ‘find’ myself. Which actually, would have some truth in it. Both my parents knew about ‘O’ anyway, it was hard to not tell them and talk about him. Though my dad had no idea as to just how much I was in love. In fact, I did say to my mum I could take a gap year, because she knew how I felt. She thought I was bonkers, but she understood. The more time I spent researching though, the more my thoughts went crazy - why don’t I just go? Do it. Leave. Except, as spontaneous as I am, I just can’t. I have to let him go and do his thing. This is his time.

So... this brings me here, now. Writing this. It’s been a weird few weeks, and months. A lot can happen in 2 years, or so people keep telling me… along with the “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” Maybe they’re right, maybe they’re wrong. One thing I do know is that as much as I sometimes say to myself that I regret meeting him, I don’t. Not for one second. Because to be able to feel like that was an experience that will live with me forever. I mean, it's one I have been able to write about (no shit). It was a whirlwind, for sure.

I’m struggling to figure out which tense (was/is) to use when talking about him because he still exists, but ‘O’ wholeheartedly was something else. When talking to a friend about it all recently, he said to me “he really did rock your world didn’t he?”. Yes, he really did.

See, love does exist, and you don’t need to be looking for it. 

As for ‘O’, whether he’s reading these posts or not, I really do wish him nothing but success and happiness in all that he does in life. I will always cherish what we had, and it was more than a pleasure to know him for that short amount of time. Wherever he is, and whatever he does, I know he will always be great, and he will always be loyal.

And as for me? Well, my heart has been through more than the average 22-year-old and I’m still here. It’s not as though I’ll never love again. I think it’s more a question of whether I’ll love like that again, or feel like that again. It’s a strange one. I can only hope that I do. It's a case of never forgetting your first love though. As short-lived as it was, ’O’ gave me genuine love for the first time in my life, and for that I will always be grateful. It was unlike any other experience I’ve had, and I’ve had a lot. I thought I’d been in love before, but this has made me realise I haven’t, not really.

We met at the wrong time, and there was nothing either of us could do. As unfortunate as it was, I appreciate that it happened. I have absolutely no regrets. I know there’s a famous quote too by Alfred, Lord Tennyson - 

“tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” 

I’m still not sure how I feel about this quote, but I do know that loss is an unavoidable facet of life. And I think I would rather experience the highs and lows than stagnantly lay in the middle.

When I first started writing this post, I was unsure as to where I go from here. But, the more I think about it, the more I know I shouldn’t dwell on it. The lack of contact between us, and his absence hurts, and makes me feel as though it wasn’t real. Though I know that’s just me overthinking it. At least, I hope that’s all it is. Besides, if we were in contact, it would only be prolonging the inevitable.

Here's what I’ve learnt - do not to be afraid to experience your emotions. You should be able to trust yourself enough to feel what you feel; I know I certainly did. The universe works in mysterious ways, and I can’t say that I won’t ever think of 'O' again. I sure as hell know I will when I next walk through that Chinese Arch. Nor can I say that he won’t hold a special place in my heart, because he will. For whatever reason, we met. As painful, and as heartbreaking as it has been… I will never forget our time. Things end sometimes, but life must go on.

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”