I love you, always. And how could I not?

After three years apart and countless conversations to heal our wounds after that terrible break-up, we decided to meet in Rome. Hoping that what we felt for each other would respect the limits of friendship, a limit that the spark between us had already crossed so many times before… And so it was, once again. 

While you tried to look away from my lips as they sipped a Negroni, I restrained myself from touching your arms. I got lost in your eyes, in your hair, in your hands, and in the stories of your new life without me, in the same city where we shared so much together. You got lost in my voice, in my touch, and in a certain laughter that I recognise only you can bring to life. Finally, I ran my fingers through your hair. You put your hand on my leg. The vision of the couple we were meant to be. 

The next few days were like a honeymoon (or what I imagine a honeymoon to be like). You said all the words I always wanted to hear. Phrases full of love, passion, affection, honesty… or at least that’s what I thought. We enjoyed Italy through its wines, pizza, pasta, train rides, and a daily gelato that made our days together even sweeter. 

As we said goodbye, I wanted to think that distance could not kill our love, that our story was infinite. We continued to exchange messages, photos, and I tried to see a bit of our beloved Mexico City through your eyes, but little by little I began to feel your absence, as I had felt it many times before, a few years back.

In my attempts to nurture our bond, I began to question whether what we had experienced really happened. If we had really been together recently, or if I had imagined the words, the caresses, the promises–but it was all there. I reread the messages to find your words; I looked at our pictures together to remember your presence by my side; I listened to myself making plans with you for your next trip to Europe… I tried to receive answers, tokens of your interest from a distance. And I only got silences, long and painful ones.

I will never understand how you think this behavior is not hurtful. Our memories together are broken now. As you go back to your routine, I gather all my courage to be stronger every day in the country that is my new home now, a place that if you had asked, I would have left to be by your side. I know we could be a great couple, but this ship has sailed. So, here is what you wanted, and here is where it ends. 

I will heal with an Italian love, gelatos, pizza, pasta, and train rides with friends, lovers, pets, and strangers. I will write a new love story, one that never leaves me wondering, one in which there’s no room for silence and in which the honeymoon vibes stay everyday by my side. One that makes me remember Rome as the best city to be in love.