And now, life slowly began to change. It had been four months since Chris left. His calls were becoming less frequent, and occasional messages had to suffice. He still said he missed me and would come to see me soon. Maybe he really did miss me. I never truly understood Chris's feelings—he said he loved me, but the sense of distrust always overshadowed everything.
Perhaps he was truly sorry.
Perhaps we were really in love.
We had shared so much time, long moments spent as if we were the only two people in the world. Even our photos were full of love—arms entwined, smiles that said "forever," like the perfect couple.
Life is strange. And people are even stranger.
Occasionally, I still spoke with Deiana. Her perfect life seemed to revolve around freedom—she shared the places she traveled, happy moments on social platforms. The most impressive part was her life alone, making peace with herself, living with her pain and joy all by herself.
Meanwhile, I couldn't even cry freely in my own home. I couldn't stay out late. Friends couldn't stay the night. At 25, 26 years old, I felt like I should've been doing more. Something inside me kept itching, kept whispering that I wasn't settled yet.
Maybe I liked trouble.
Maybe I liked breaking patterns.
Everything was provided—meals ready, a clean home, a supportive family—and yet I was still restless. What was I looking for?
Dear self, if I had the wisdom I have now, would I live the same life again?
Yes. I think I would.
Everything was so full. The financial troubles that would come were still ahead. The real storms hadn't even started. Stay tuned.
I think I love the impossible.
Just like I loved you.