Slow burning
my experience on love (so far)
Sometimes love is proven through staying. Through letting go. Through choosing reality over fantasy, even when fantasy is beautiful. Grief as an ongoing negotiation rather than a wound that closes. It knows that love and loss do not cancel each other out. They coexist. They shape one another. -Denise Zubizarreta
The first time I felt both cherished and desired was when I met a boy in college, say 8 years ago. It was one of those romances I would play in my head repeatedly back then. Memories of us getting caught by campus police after late night drinking (I puked), innocent but knowing glances in a room full of our closest friends, long distance doordash surprises (he showed up at the front door), and letters recounting the first time he noticed me.
I never knew how to accept this kind of affection, and truthly, I spent a majority of my twenties learning how to take a compliment. I lacked confidence and the ability to articulate my thoughts. And throughout most of it, it was hard to know if I was reciprocating at the level he deserved.
We dated for two years, it was filled with excitement, and unlike prior relationships, I wasn’t silenced, and learned that I was deserving of this kindness.
But this isn’t a story about him, we broke up, and it was excrutiatingly painful. Towards the end of it, there was nothing to talk about. I couldn’t voice my needs becuase I wasn’t taught to, and what started with thrill and excitement, crumbled quickly once life got difficult and real.
The loss felt incomparable with what was happening to others during a global pandemic, so I found myself deeply sad, lonely, and guilty. This then turned me to an insecure, cautious, and dare I say, cynical version of myself.
I retracted from the world, found comfort in being unreachable, started therapy, dyed my hair 4 different colors, wrote unfinished poetry, and soon enough, I got existential thinking that people enter the world alone and will, too, die alone. So time to get comfortable with it? (wow morbid, I know).
Just in time for my 25th birthday, I took it upon myself to travel solo for the first time up to the Pacific Northwest. Around 3,330 miles from Southern California to Olympic National Park, all amidst insane fires along the west coast.
It was transformative - most of the time, I lost phone signal in between canyons and made an effort to stop along the side of the road just to savor the views. It was incredibly freeing. I met strangers whom we both shared similar discourse on the purpose of life (and a joint) while sitting in Rialto beach watching the sunset.
Two weeks wasnt enough, a few months passed and I left for three months to Texas. What a time.
Amongst this solo adventuring period of life, I met a friend of a friend who, when we talked, felt like a soft landing amongst the chaos that was happening in the world and in my mind. We would play chess together, and watch shows. He made me a playlist while I drove miles on end, and it felt comforting to know someone cared.
Though, like two ships passing, I wasn’t ready when he was. And when I was, he had already moved on.
There is beauty in reflecting on these moments of romantic loss after time has passed. Resilience strengthens, and you realize that you didn’t really know better. Despite the pain, there was so much gratitude for the experience. I didn’t know it back then, but this was all part of the healing journey to prepare me for New York. I became independent enough to move alone and start a new life.
one day, I hope to look at these years fondly, untarnished, warm, and with love
—written some time in between deep longing
Have I been more realistic and cautious about love? Most certainly. Whether it’s a mutual ghost, lost momentum, or a great conversation that didn’t lead to anything, I was generally okay with just meeting new people. In the years that followed, I spent all my energy to make new connections.
The narrative I told myself with dating was to collect stories, because stories usually had an ending, hopefully not long enough to hurt. Most of them felt like short circuits: intense sparks that quickly fizzled.
One of the most notable short circuits I had was two years ago, where it burned so quickly that it crashed the moment he decided to call it off. It had only been a month.
I found myself profoundly sad again. Wondering where it all went wrong, drawing attention to my insecurities. But in hindsight, it was apparent that at the end of they day, he just wasn’t serious about us.
A little ghost haunts me when I get too close, like the feeling right before your finger touches a flame. It’s a concerted effort to not assume that acts of kindness and feelings of passion come with an ulterior motive. Theres doubt that creeps into your mind everytime you meet someone new. Wondering if you’re making the same mistakes again. Getting hurt by somone you thought you trusted is so painful, and more so when you find yourself thinking they cared enough to still remain in your life. But don’t.
Perhaps the reality is this: love isn’t through grand gestures, the perfect story line, or insane sparks; but through understanding, consistency, safe spaces, and commitment despite discomfort.
(Though, I’ll admit, I still romanticize the yearn)
And taking the leap again.
I met someone. We’ve known each other for a few years, but reconnected like we were meeting each other again. In the past few months, I found myself more inspired to write, and be unapologetically silly. Meeting him reminded me that I don't have to carry it all, and that I can, and should, allow myself to let the walls down, share my thoughts, be open. Because when I do, people show up. Like my 30th birthday, or when grief struck, and when I moved to Brooklyn thinking I had to do it alone. Lastly, I’m learning to appreciate the whimsy of the unknown and new beginnings.
That said, like two ships passing, and similar to my healing journey 6 years ago, he is currently on his own. Whether or not this is a chapter or part of my novel we call life, I’m profoundly grateful for the experience.
our wordless conversation over text ^ so silly
“But if someone manages to see in me what I don’t show, they will have found in me something that belongs only to them.” -@ronwritings
I watched Eternity last night, and predictably teared up cried as I observed Joan’s internal turmoil. Deciding between a love that existed only as a memory, preserved because it never had to survive; or a love that stayed through hardship, coexisting through the mundane but with deep understanding. It struck me because we all must have experienced these highly romantic short circuit relationships in the hopes that it’ll turn into the other. But until it does happen, we wouldn’t know.
With just a few days before the new year, I plan carry the theme with me: cards out, walls down, heart open. And like a candle, I’m slow burning.
Sending much love <3
Until the next scribble,
x Anne
Hi Anniekins. My heart ached as I was reading this beautifully written piece, but by the end, it yearned to learn more about the ending. I look forward to the sequel. You know how I feel about you, and want only the best for you. There is no one more deserving of happiness. Much love!
Deeply vulnerable and beautifully written :,) proud of you ❤️