Letters To An Almost Lover

Prologue

"If we were meant to be, we would've been by now."
- Billie Eilish

Arabella:

People say that young love is magical.

And I did believe in that and I still do. The idea of being so fond of someone that you find yourself asking if you've truly felt alive before you met them, is just so wonderful yet silly.

And if you've ever been in love with someone, or at least with the idea of them, their names might be what you're thinking of right now. Perhaps our naivety is what allows us to believe in the futile promise of "forever", because who knew that forever only meant however long someone chooses to love you. And that itself, is incredibly terrifying, for it could signify a mere split second or in some rare occasions, years on end.

And for a long time I did believe in that notion of pure true love, for I grew up watching happily ever afters play out carelessly on screens, where the stars had aligned and lit the path for both parties to collide. But there will come a time for all of us, where inevitably these beautiful illusions will begin to fade. We will begin to see the awful intentions that people bear, and realise how appearances can be so viciously deceiving. We would find ourselves doubting if true love really does exist, and would lean any ounce of remaining hope we have left for it, on those who presumably got their happily ever after.

But I think the most wonderful phase of falling in love with someone, is not the stage where you think they're absolutely perfect, but rather when you've seen them at their lowest and still see them as lovable. And then your mind, unknowing wanders to the thought of them, inculcating them into your daily thought process, envisioning a million what if's.

And when it all comes crashing down, it is often the things that we imagined (and of course the empty promises) that tears us apart the most. For false hope never provides any remedy, but only serves to accentuate the aching.

But I suppose that for many, our minds are accustomed to deceive ourselves, and that's why red flags never seem to do its job well enough for us to stop falling deeper and deeper in love. And even though a part of us always knew that there will bound to be dead ends or traffic on the other side, we choose to accelerate and try with all our might to make it past the red lights in time, only to collide and crumble into a weeping mess. And often it is that false perception of the healing power or the ability we think we have to fix them, that leads us to our own downfall. And before you know it, you've given a part of yourself, to mend the broken part of them. And you could unconditionally and so readily give them your all, but they could to turn around and say they did not ask for any of it. And for me I believe so deeply in fate, that coincidences are mere excuses for things that are meant to happen. But I do not believe in the futile and superficial idea of love at first sight, nor the instant connection that some claim they feel, like an electric wave that jolt them when they meet someone new.

But that was me before I met him.

And I know this may sound so cliche and repetitive, but for me I felt this feeling so strong, that I can't begin to explain to you how it had felt. For I can't find the right words to describe it, or at least the right words that would do it enough justice.

But what I know now that it's all over, is that I did not know him enough to call it love. But what kills me isn't that he didn't have enough courage to stay and fight for our love, but rather me having to watch every vision I had of him and I disappear into thin air.

The funny thing is they were never tangible in the first place, but it felt awfully like it, and taking them away was like stealing a piece of a memory from me that hadn't even happen. And now we were completely back to being strangers, but all these memories that I can't erase still makes my mind believe that I knew him more than friends know each other.

And so I write these letters. Letters that I may never have the courage to deliver. Letters that I craft in plain pursuit of a closure we failed to arrive at. And perhaps someday, I will begin to forget the sound of his voice, and the look of his face, but I shall never forget the highs and lows he had once made me feel.