on what could have been.

“You were bigger than the whole sky. You were more than just a short time.”

I haven’t even started writing yet and I’m teary eyed. So you know where this one is going, my friends.

I don’t even like T*yl-r Sw-ft okay? But Bigger Than the Whole Sky was on repeat for that entire day. The day that shook me more than I care to admit.

But he’ll never read this, so we’re in a safe space.

I’m ready to talk about New York.

—

It took me three-and-a-half hours to stop crying. I cried the second I woke up. I cried as we carted my things to the car. As we approached the airport air struggled out of my lungs. For the first time, I was speechless and in tears — in front of the person I care for, let alone a MAN.

It’s important to understand here that I don’t cry in front of others. It’s something that I’ve always done since I was quite little. But especially as I’ve grown up… I’ve never let someone know, to their face, that they’ve broken me. This was so new to me. And yet, I effortlessly sobbed as he held me, time and again.

At first, I debated staying sat in the passenger’s seat. Sick to my stomach and full of grief.

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been.

I couldn’t look at him. I was leaving. I was leaving and everything was so unfinished. We were unfinished. We are.

But some unknown force to me carried me out and onto the curb. The sun was perfectly falling on us. Drying the salt stains that dotted my cheeks.

“Do you have everything?” and small-talk fills the heavy space between us.

“No.” Because we both know I don’t. I can’t. Find. Words. Everything cues a river of tears I can’t stop. But I surprise myself.

“Will you miss me?” A question I’m infamous for. I manage a half smile. We kiss, but it’s different. It feels final. I think we both felt it. I can feel hyperventilation kick in and wave myself away.

Leave it to me to collapse no more than five steps into the airport in tears. I pretend to re-pack my things, but I’m trying to gather more than some clothes. Sympathetic airline check-in staff don’t even bother me with my overweight bag. They had just watched me fall apart, and probably assume it’s better not to nudge me before I break (again).

I cried through security, which prompted a few extra checks and stern looks. I tearfully sat in the lounge waiting for my flight and connecting back to the reality I left. I just wanted to be back home, in my bed, under every blanket I owned.

When I finally parked myself on the flight home, I really let it out. For so many stares that I rendered unimportant. In this moment, I just needed to feel everything. The flight attendant brought me a filled-to-the-brim glass of white wine, unprovoked. Mind you, this airline is known for being stingy with alcohol - so she knew I was in my feelings. Something that simultaneously made me giggle and cry more.

What should've been you.

What could've been, would've been you.

—

I’ve spent most of this diary writing about leaving. But you’re probably wondering, what happened during?

I could say love, but maybe he would disagree. He shows me a city I had never been to, but had quickly fallen for. And I mean, really shows it to me. He shows himself, to me, too. We eat the most delicious foods. He takes me to places that mean something to him, and shows me milestones of his life in a place otherwise unknown to me. It now feels familiar. Warm. He does too. Home.

He shows me parts of himself he says others don’t see. His home. His life. His day-to-day. Something that has grown to feel a part of my own life, too. I can put places to things we’ve only talked about, and faces to names. The pieces feel like they fit. Well.

I am swirling in a place I am sure I will come to call home too. Nothing felt wrong. In my last days in a city I can’t find reasons to get sick of, though, I growingly feel nauseous.

We talk about why it can’t work. Why it’s nonsensical. Why it’s better to just remain as it was.

But nothing ever really goes back to what it was, does it?

And we’ll never talk about that because it’s easier not to, right? To pretend like it’s normal to go from consistent conversation to saying hello once in a fortnight. To go from sharing everything about and to each other, to talking about the weather. To go from deep belly laughter and lingering kisses to shutting each other out.

Did some bird flap its wings over in Asia?

Did some force take you because I didn't pray?

Five days. Five days to go from a perfectly sound foundation to shaky, at best.

Everything I felt was deep in my soul. Electric. But it was his smile that truly captivated me. Mysterious. Charming. Simply irresistible. I want to keep it for myself. For good. But you can’t hold what doesn’t want to be held, can you?

The intensity paired well against the city’s sleepless energy. Every moment. With this feeling came the complexity and challenges of nurturing a relationship in a generation that can’t seem to house it. Our differences. The chaos of our individual lives.

It’s too much, for him. I thought this would look like learning about each other and growing together. He contrasts.

—

I can sit here and wonder what changed but what will that do for anyone? For us? As I reflect on the absolute whirlwind of emotions and events that have shaped the past few months, I find myself at a loss for words. Again, shocking right?

But I feel compelled to share this chapter because if you’re reading this, you’ve likely been a part of it in some way. You know that New York stole my heart and holds it, and that taking chances is better than wondering forever what could have been.

Whether our love story is destined to be a fleeting chapter or a lifelong journey, it has forever changed me. It reminds me to embrace the unpredictable, to find beauty everywhere, and to love with all my heart no matter what. That magic can happen when two paths cross at just the right moment. That it can happy anywhere. That it can be anything.

I am grateful for every moment, every lesson, and every emotion that New York has brought into my life.

In all its glory and madness, New York City became a metaphor for our love - beautiful and unpredictable, but worthy of adoration nonetheless.

—

A

on being lost.

I’ve been struggling with myself, my thoughts and my words for how to put this XXL Venti, six-shots of espresso, double whip whammy of a story.

This one is a tricky one, but a good one (promise).

Where to start? Like Alice, lost and going mad with everyone else, I guess.

I typically approach any new relationship with guarded pessimism, if I’m honest. I’ve experienced affection in adolescence, full of growth and harsh realities (like that we are 14 and can do no more than hold hands for dramatic effect). Too often were my late teens full of obsessive adoration, irrevocable bonds and the emptiness of grief that sweeps over when they’re gone too soon. And my twenties? Well, that’s the collateral damage, isn’t it? I’m a collection of Kintsugi: broken pieces put back together and woven back to a complete piece, with gold. A collection of memories, grief, joy, ups, downs, sideways adventures — and love. Sometimes, love.

You’ll take notice that I veer away from the use of the ‘L’ word as often as possible. I find it tougher than ever. With the fleeting way in which it comes and goes; the way we feel so much at once to nothing at all. The feeling that steals away our hours of long-awaited sleep for ‘stare-at-the-moon-and-wonder’ emotions and thoughtfulness. I wonder if my incessant awakeness comes from a preoccupation with my thoughts, or simply from having too many and not enough hours in the day to get them all out. Or not enough moments of stillness with the person who needs to hear them, to express how you feel. Or like, whatever, you know?

If you’re not with me yet, picture this.

Do you remember those unforgettable days of our teens, when love was a rollercoaster of emotions and uncertainty? You weren’t truly sure if there was a track, or that nothing traumatic wouldn’t happen. I feel that this is when we experienced love in its purest, unfiltered form – a mix of excitement and trepidation; innocence and faith. We met in the hallways, stealing glances that conveyed more than words ever could. Our palms would sweat, and butterflies would dance in our stomachs whenever we saw that person. We would analyze every word, every punctuation mark, seeking hidden meanings like detectives on a thrilling case of the late-night text message (BBM). And all hidden behind the guise of being too cool for it all.

I simultaneously wonder if anything has really changed, or if we’ll always get to experience affection that way.

And then, rejection felt like it reached right into your chest and ripped your tiny, fragile heart out. Yet every crooked, reciprocated smile was like a small fire lit in our core. All in the midst of probably the most important journey of self-discovery, learning not only about love but also about ourselves and the kind of person we aspired to be. These memories still bring a smile to my face and a hint of nostalgia to my heart, alongside a slight pang of sadness for that era.

I contrast this idea with this generation of love, and whatever we’ve shaped it to look like now.

As we journey through our late twenties, love seems like it takes on a new hue, adorned with so. much. complexity. We find ourselves treading the delicate balance between passion and practicality, torn between the "what if?" and the desire for commitment. The concept of a soulmate or a twin flame, once so alluring, now feels elusive and almost delusional.

Delulu gang, stand up!

We live in a world where choices abound, and the fear of making the wrong one lingers like a shadow in the back of our minds. A constant ghost. We crave connections that light up our souls, yet we fear the vulnerability that comes with opening our hearts… completely. We've witnessed the whiplash of bonds around us:

Marriage

Divorce

Baby

Engagement

Another Baby

Death

Leaving us to question whether happily ever after is an achievable reality or a romantic fantasy of our grandparents’ generation. It’s absolutely a new era. But what era?

Optimistically, my vote is on independence and self-discovery, as lost as we may feel in it. Because outside of this bubble, we are navigating so much else that who has time to mull on that? We long for love that complements our individual growth rather than defining it entirely. We seek a love that allows us to soar, hand in hand with a partner who encourages us to pursue our dreams while they chase their own. This journey in our late twenties is a delicate dance between guarded hearts and hopeful spirits, as we navigate through life's uncertainties while cherishing the love we find along the way, as a steady right hand and light.

And that’s okay. And it’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to feel loss. It’s okay if all of those things are platonic, in a world often too complex for romance. Any way you choose to live, to feel is okay. If you’re not harming a soul, let your soul wander – as lost as you damn well please.

I’m nearing the end of what I’ve decided will have to continue in another chapter. Because, there’s no way I can tell the next part – the intended part – in less than 1,000 words. I’ve laid the foundation for you… and I can summarize it best like this:

Girl loves world. Girl loves love. Does love, love girl? Not without every obstacle known to man – she’s lost! Will love find her? Has she found it? Is she holding on to it for dear life? Did it slip away? Is it gone?

If you’re wondering, I’ll see you next week.

–

A