For a long time, I've tried to write the story of my ex and I. I've got four or five tales with no tails and little to zero chance of them growing one. But now I know what to write. Now I know where I went wrong. So here is my story, presented to you for your enjoyment and your curiosity in the hopes that maybe you'll learn from my mistake and learn how to write your own love story.
It was a beautiful fall day when he and I met. We had all just arrived for the week prior to the start of our freshman year of college and amidst all the activity and excitement of our arrival, I fell in love. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I fell. Our first conversation about where the recycling bin was left much to be desired, but as it turned out, he and fate had a plan.
As the week went on, we all ventured from our rooms in eager, freshman fashion to learn more about our residence and its residents. One evening, while just sitting at my computer and chatting online, he came in with a few other people because my room was at the end of a corridor and my roommates and I had left our door open in invitation to anyone who wished to venture in. Immediately, he came towards me and started to make conversation with me. I was only more than happy to oblige. We talked and chatted for a while before someone had the idea that we all go out for a night on the town. It was a good way to acclimate ourselves with what was a new city for some of us, so we all got changed and headed out.
Eventually, we made it to our destination, a lounge where they had installed closed circuit television all around the room so that you could people watch and call them up to see if there was a connection. As it turned out, every other freshman had the same idea and this being one of the only under 21 places to get in, it was quite crowded. Eventually, our group made it to the back of the room where there was some dancing going on near the bathroom. Getting a table was out of the question, so we just took to congregating in the dance area near the restroom.
Not very confident in my dancing skills and still afraid of embarrassing myself in front of my new friends, I bobbed a little and just stood near my love interest. In fact, during my slight movement, I detected a movement by him to try and get close to me. While I learned later that he had already known about my leanings from a rainbow ribbon that I had pinned to a bag of mine, I was honestly still afraid to hit on a guy in person, especially someone about whom I did not know his sexuality. However, for him to make a move was all I desired, so when he opened the door, I was more than happy to enter.
When we all went home after a very short stint at the lounge, many of us were still too worked up to go to sleep, so we sat in the hallways and talked and laughed and jumped and shouted and basically made merry. During this time, my love interest had wandered in and out of a few rooms and there was a time when someone came out of the room that he was in and said that he had just come out as being bi. This, of course, piqued my interest. I had never had an experience with bisexual men before, but at least it meant that I had a chance more so than if he had just been gay.
As the night wound down, four of us ended up in his room, two girls and the two of us. We all ended up getting into the bunk beds together, the two of us on his top bunk and the two girls on the bottom bunk, to talk and joke as we fell asleep. As we talked and our eyelids drooped, I could feel him moving closer to me as he traced his hand along my thigh. And even as he did this, I still had to turn to him and ask him, "Are you gay?" to which his obvious response was, "Uh, duh." The man had his hand on my thigh, what did I expect? But I tell you honestly and sincerely when I say that I truly was naive about men and sex and hands on thighs. I just wanted to be sure because my head found it difficult to trust my heart and his status had only recently gone from uncertain to possible to highly probable to the moment of truth.
From that night on, we were inseparable. Unfortunately for him, I was still in love with my ex who had just broken up with me the week before college. And also unfortunately for him, he was the one to whom I went for help, with whom I wept, with whom I asked, "Why? Why? Why?" and with whom I slept and had feelings for, but was unready to let go of my previous love. Thus, for one year, he and I were boyfriends in everything but name.
Eventually, the July going into our sophomore year, he had come to stay over in my house in suburbia and sitting on our pinstriped, white and mint green couch, I told him that I loved him and was ready for a relationship with him. I was finally ready to be with him, to commit myself to him, to be boyfriends with him. And it was one of the best decisions of my life.
The next two years were something like the best two years of my life.
Staying over in each others' dorms, he would leave me notes in the morning if I left early, so that I'd find them when I came back to the dorm. He would go with me, support me in all of my ventures and activities, if not for himself, then at least for me. He would love me and care for me and hold me when I was feverishly ill and laid sweating in his bed. He was the love of my life with whom I spent all of my time and with whom I wanted to spend all of my life, but in the end, it was not to be.
The summer after my graduation, I stayed on in my residence hall as a residence assistant to enjoy the last few months of my beautiful studio in the city. He went abroad to China for a month and when he came back, he broke up with me.
He broke up with me.
To say that I was devastated would have been an understatement. I felt like someone had blindsided me and punched my stomach. I begged him and pled with him not to do it, not to give up on our love. We ambled up and down the streets of the city as I negotiated a chance to be with him again, to be with him for good. I cried, I wept, and in the end, I won. But it was a short victory. For when he came over the next day, I could see in his eyes that his love for me was gone. The fire and joy of seeing each other was dead in his soul and when I looked him in the eyes, all I saw was the reflection of me.
When I came home that August, I told my mom in the car that he and I had broken up, but I didn't want to talk about and not to ask me any questions. For five years, I didn't want anyone to ask me any questions. I wandered from relationship to relationship, searching for something that I didn't know and leaving heartaches and heartbreaks in my wake. I loved him, I truly did, but all I had left for him now was confusion and torment in the wondering of why he did not want me, too.
Finally, at the end of the five years, I began to see a light. I met someone with whom I could see a future, see a new beginning and a new ending. He was again the love of my life and I was again, someone who deserved to be loved. But something was not right. Underneath all the joy and happiness of spending our time together, in all the arguing and breaking up and getting back together, we were fools. I was a fool in love who was not yet ready to commit and he was a fool in love who had committed everything and finally, I understood why five years ago, my life had fallen apart.
As I slowly started to try and piece my life together again, I learned a lot from the past five years. I learned about loving myself, about loving others, about loving. I learned how to hold my head high and keep myself proud, how to value myself so that I could value others and most importantly, how to love again: How to love me again.
And so I submit this to you, fair reader, to let you know that you are not alone. I write in the hopes that you know and understand that there are many of us out there who are going through this anguish, who went through this anguish, who understand this anguish of love and heartbreak. And out there somewhere, there is someone who loves you and who believes in you and who knows you can make it back again if you just give yourself time. So good luck, and so long, and if you ever need a listening heart, you're more than welcome to come back, but if not, I hope that you leave with a little more hope and faith in writing your own love story.