The one that got away. Sigh.

A Tyrant Named Miltiades! wrote: »

All the time.

It was a long time ago, and in another country. We matched on Tinder. She was interested in all of the same things I was, she was perfect. I knew from the start I'd fuck it up. I was going through all sorts of personal things at the time, my Dad was terminally ill and I was probably having some kind of breakdown (I'm oversharing now, but I've started so I'll finish).

The first day we met, I was so nervous I was probably speaking 50Hz higher in pitch than usual, and kept stammering my words, which I do when anxious. I was anxious because she was exactly my type and (I cannot stress this enough), I knew I'd fuck it up.

So I met her outside her office and we went for coffee. After the nerves subsided, we had an immediate, intense connection. We shared a common love of Coen Brothers movies, Schopenhauer, Rimbaud and Marloboro Reds. When the waiter cleared our tables, we walked in the direction of her house, and sat on a park bench until the warden kicked us out.

We met again the next day and confirmed that we were both already mad about one another. I finally worked up the courage to kiss her, and walked three miles home with a tetanus-grin fixed to my face.

On the third day, she met my friends for drinks, and later came home to my apartment. We drank my flatmate's Jameson, I read her poems by Patrick Kavanagh and she quoted Robert Lowell by heart. It was at this moment, I knew I adored her, and so the end must be nigh.

On the fourth day, Saturday, I lost the plot. After she left, I went back to bed and didn't leave my room until the following Monday, except to go to the loo. I remember feeling extremely depersonalised, like I was watching myself through some kind of out-of-body experience. I can only relate it to coming down from a drug (I was sober throughout the previous few days).

I didn't turn my phone on until Sunday, then rather than explain anything to her I blocked her on Whatsapp and Instagram (real cnut behaviour, I know). If I felt anything, it was a deep despair that I was fcuking something up, and yet I wanted to fcuk it up.

Over the next few days, I started to tell myself that it had been a perfect relationship, the most perfect of my life, and do go any further would spoil it (very Schopenhauer). But for her, I'm the guy whom she probably thinks pretended to be fascinated by her (I was), slept with her, and then blocked her. By the time I got out of my funk and realised that, it was too late to go back and reassure her that I'd just gone temporarily insane.

I still wonder what would happen if I hadn't had thrown that wobbler, I know for sure I have never had such a connection with anyone else since. It sounds like a bad short story (and is the length of one, apologies), but it's entirely true and given that it paints me in such a bad light, not something I am proud of.

Wibbs wrote: »

I have two, the only two women I've ever truly loved and knew they felt the same. Occasionally I do ponder a certain and oft wistful what if alright. In both cases external circumstances were the rocks we foundered upon. Indeed the only arguments we had in both cases were those circumstances. The "us" part we never fought over, unlike every other medium or long term relationships I've had. If I had a time machine and could go back and remove those circumstances I do wonder would we be good, even great, with the usual small issues that pop up with any couples, or would the lack of circumstances show up incompatibilities by their absence, because they had been a "common enemy" we could focus on? But since I have neither an atomic powered DeLorean or a blue Police box, I'll never know.

A Tyrant Named Miltiades! wrote: »

It was a long time ago, and in another country. We matched on Tinder.

Boom_Bap wrote: »

Is the one that 'got away' in the boot?