When Britney belts out the chorus of this song (I played with your heart, got lost in the game, oh BABY, BABY), I bet she doesn’t think of a marginally hungover 25 year old sitting on her bed typing away at half 8 on a Sunday evening. By the way, that’s me. And it is rather my heart that’s been played with, having gotten lost in someone else’s game. It’s never been a more ‘Sunday’ Sunday evening.
I talk, joke, and write about boys a lot, so it’s probably fair that people think the topic is the number 1 priority in my life. It’s actually far further down the list – far past never leaving home without a pot of Vaseline for my ever-dry lips; far past trying my absolute hardest to always send handwritten birthday cards to my friends; far past never letting my phone charge get lower than 50% because it’s not an iPhone and it’s really bloody difficult to borrow a charger when everyone else has an iPhone. (Oh and naturally also to help me keep tabs on all of my Hinge conversations… Hope you note the sarcasm.)
Regardless, it’s a topic that I love to talk, joke, and write about. Especially because there’s so much to be said. Double especially on a Sunday because Sundays always seem to be the days that little romantic bubbles burst. Much like a bubble that floats inconspicuously along in the air without a care in the world until, without warning (unless a crowd of kids charge towards it), it pops. And then you cry, eat a tonne of halloumi and cauliflower curry (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it), then blow your next bubble. That certainly was not a euphemism.
I’m a helpless romantic, and I fall hard, fast. As I’ve given up trying to avoid the fact and instead, embrace it, I’ve simultaneously opened myself up to the inevitable – getting my feelings hurt. It’s a blessing, for at least I’m aware if I’m feeling something or not, and also a curse. Though it might take far too many dates or excuses to actually realise it, it becomes pretty apparent when the other person is feeling it, or not.
*****
As I worked my way through Firefly Lane in the midst of Lockdown 2 (3, 4, 5?!), I experienced overwhelming feelings of relation to many of the characters; their emotions, their feelings, their experiences. I think there’s a bit of Tully in me – ambitious, reckless, and fiercely loyal. She’s as confident as she is lonely; she boasts independence but all she really wants is to be loved. I’m sure there was an episode in which the following line was said – either that, or I’m having some incredibly deep dreams – ‘the biggest thing you can trust someone with is your heart’. I feel that. I feel that hard.
In February, I went on a date for something to do on a lockdown-ed Saturday afternoon. By date, I mean we walked around a park with a coffee – welcome to pandemic dating. He was one of those actually ‘nice’ guys; one date turned into double figures (not that I was counting), and I started to freak out about what was going on. When you go on a date with minimal expectations (a date that you very nearly didn’t go on because of said minimal expectations), it can throw you massively off guard when you start to like them, like really like them. I fell hard, fast, and was ignorant to a whole host of emotions, feelings, and excitement that were coming over me. I forgot how to process it all.
However outwardly confident or straight-talking you are as a person, or however easy or difficult you find it to open up and express your feelings, you’re never immune to being vulnerable. I sometimes think I thrive off the vulnerability; the adrenaline of telling someone you like them; the butterflies in your tummy as you drive to meet them. The taking of the plunge (very much all or nothing in my case) to trust someone with you. Not just the laughing, joking, looking-good ‘you’ that’s sat across from a date, eyes mildly glazed from that third glass of wine that’ll act as your liquid courage to kiss them back later that evening. But steadily, all of you. The you that checks your alarm 17 times before you can fall asleep; the you that wakes up in the morning with your hair half stuck to the side of your face, the rest in the remains of the ponytail you constructed in an attempt to avoid said sticking to your face. The you with complex thoughts, wildest feelings, and complicated emotions; a person with a past, a present, and hopes for the future.
I love the euphoric call to a friend to tell them all the little details (wink) about the guy I’ve just met, and I love it when my friends call me to tell me the same. I love the giddy feeling when you get home after a date having been told that someone really likes you. I love the first time someone takes your hand, and I love it when a snog is a bit nervous and fumble-y. I love the way it makes a Cheshire grin sit on your face for days, even when you’re trying really, really hard to keep it cool. But you just can’t help it.
And so that’s what brings us here. Mr Lockdown 2.0 finished in the summer, and I moved to Leeds vowing not to download Hinge. So it was only natural that I downloaded Hinge, and I went on a date. Again, it was genuinely mainly for something to do rather than anything else, a nice little way to discover some good bars and better restaurants. Then one date turned into two, three, four (you get the gist) and those butterflies only flapped harder. But I’m not sure there’ll be any more.
I think one of the most devastating parts of navigating something with someone is exactly that – navigating the ‘something’ that could mean one thing to one person, something completely different to the other. And so you reach a point when you can no longer put off the realisation that maybe, this isn’t as good as you thought it was. That maybe – probably – this isn’t going to work out. Your bubble is floating higher into the sky, and it’s ready to pop.
It’s especially devastating when you’re on the receiving end of being told that this isn’t as good for them as it is for you. All the parts of yourself that you’ve invested in that person – be it time, emotion, feelings – remain out there, and you can’t get them back. It’s not like a t-shirt that you can return if you decide it just doesn’t suit you, so you get your refund and a mild sense of satisfaction. It’s like finding yourself sat opposite your phone as your dinner date, willing it to say something, but it says nothing at all. It’s belting out Britney’s ‘Oops, I Did It Again’ at the top of your lungs.
*****
Well, if that all felt a bit bleak, it actually wasn’t meant to. It’s a nice thing, a great thing, to have the ability to really feel, and to really like someone. Those Cheshire grins are the best, and I’ve actually sat and wrote this with a smile. It can be lovely, but it can’t always be forever. But when it is… I reckon I’ll only need to check my alarm once.
Goodnight.
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