Lâche-moi le main.

“I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn’t take any more. Just once.” 

— Haruki Murakami

I dropped biology in sixth form. It started getting too chemistry heavy. I never quite grasped how components match with each other or what atoms do. In real life, chemistry is a fool’s game. The concept of being “head over heels” for someone: the concept of a connection. The realist inside always knows the outcome: failure. The romanticist keeps hoping; keeps building castles in the clouds. Why is romance easy for other people?

This morning, a friend lamented to me that her skinny love was moving towards its expiration date. And I told her: “you deserve someone who chooses you.” Meanwhile, I never fall for people who choose me wholeheartedly. People only choose me when it’s the most convenient for them. 

I don’t think I will ever understand this one. He admits the chemistry and the attraction are both there. Then, it begets the question: why can’t this be explored further? I’m already hurt. I’m already frustrated. I’m already anxious. I’m already semi-attached to the idea of a person I barely know. I never felt this before. Or, I haven’t felt it in a while. And, maybe, because of the longevity of the absence of such a feeling, I forgot what it was like. He said that he was going to be selfish when fielding potential partners. He did not find the spark he was looking for with me. He replied: “I got caught up in the chemistry.” I must have walked for an hour across the city after this conversation. 

Where had I heard this excuse before?

Everything seems to always lead back to you. 

I often think about your blue eyes: the way your silky honey-blonde locks felt when I stroked your hair to comfort you. You were caught up in the excitement of the contrast between us- fire and ice. And it was only after many months that you realised you still had feelings for someone else; that your heart only had space for her.

"What was all of this?" I asked you, broken. 

Your reply? "I thought you were just being friendly... in your Mediterranean way...and then, it was our chemistry...I'm sorry." 

But, as though karma vindicated me (and me, alone) she broke your heart again- soon after- the day you visited her in Berlin. Wasn’t it ironic that the woman you pined after led you there, only for you to find that she had in fact moved on? Alas, then you came back to me, tail between your legs. It was difficult; to continue being a player in your one-sided game of emotional chess.

There was someone else after you: a thinly veiled attempt of mine to forget you the following summer-that damned connection we had. That’s all. I tried to forget your scent; the way your fingers felt when they intertwined in mine, the way your warmth would soothe my skin when you held me. And then, then I got addicted to the idea of the other one. I made myself sick on the fantasy of what could have been between us had I not left my home country. I desperately wanted to delete you; to replace you. You moved on, though. Or so they have told me. Good for you. 

I will never tell you how much I actually miss you.

And I'm in yet another summer, and yet another cycle. I’m back to where I was last year: wrapped up in yet another chemistry, with no prospects. I’m in a different country, again, repeating the same pattern of self-destructive behaviour. Sometimes, I want to replace my skin; I want to forget what the touch of everyone's hands felt like on my body. After my walk, another friend called me in the evening. It was perfect timing. A friend who knew of our short-lived, bittersweet romance. He knew us both, yes. I asked him, “am I stupid this time around?” And well, he said: “if you already have a premonition that it is going to be a repeat of what you went through last year, then perhaps.” 

I promised him that I will detach, this time.