And so he didn’t come back to me. Not yet, at least. That’s what I tell myself to be able to sleep at dawn right after the night has left and I have safely kept my depression hidden in my nightstand.
All my life I have looked for that swooping kind of love. The kind of love they make movies about. The kind I so gleefully watched as a 14-year-old from shows such as The Vampire Diaries. That someday, someone would make me feel like what Stefan made Elena feel in Season 1. That even though being with him was dangerous (and not even on a figurative sense), she was willing to take all the risks of being with him. This love, this love that made Elena describe their feelings as epic, this was the kind of passionate, exhilarating, and out of this world crazy love that I always searched for.
Breathless. That has always been my favourite word. And no, I am in no way referencing the 1960s Godard film here, although in most cases I probably would. But no, I’m talking about that feeling of being short of breath. I have always liked that word as it’s the only word I have found to describe the epicness of being able to dance on top of a table on a Friday night in your local bar, or running until you feel your lungs pulsing beneath your shirt, or a make out session with a stranger you just met in the bathroom of a fully crowded room while there’s a growing line of people waiting outside. Breathless. That is what you feel when you do such things. I expected love to not be any different. That when love finally finds me, it will come at me like a speeding bus that would hit me hard til I see stars as I struggle to breathe in air.
But no, it wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t like that at all with him.
For the first time after a string of bad breakups from literal bad boys, I met this guy who was so different from any of the guys I had dated since college. We met as co-officers of a school organisation that caters to sexually-abused young girls and orphaned children. I remember my best friend and I used to joke around about how funny it is that we still get shocked when guys that we date don’t treat us right when we literally meet all of them in bars on a school night. And so, having this guy who was interested in me not because i looked cute on a tank top while drinking a glass of weng-weng or because I looked like a challenge for him to take while other guys on the table hit on me as well, it was a refreshing take. That for the first time, instead of small talks and casual flirting, I was talking to a guy sharing insights about an organization we both worked in. That instead of playing drinking games I get to discuss smart ideas about advocacies that I strongly believe in. If I go through our whole dating story I wouldn’t have time. But it’s worth mentioning that this guy never made me feel any kind of danger. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t a blood-sucking vampire unlike Stefan Salvatore, but he also wasn’t the kind of danger that regular college douchebags are. He was in for the right reasons. I am not going to lie and say we don’t fight a lot. But I was treated not as a flavor of the month for once, but actually someone to hold onto and possibly expect a future with.