Another sad love tale

Alone with my thoughts, or how do folks say it. But not quite because I’m swiping through these Instastories, hopping from one fellow’s favourite quote accompanied by a ‘yassss’ to another’s exaggerated opinion on a newly released track – ‘mad ooo! Burst my brain’. It’s a confusing mix of emotions as I go from good content to whatthefuckareyougoingonabout content, and I really should stop. But I am nearing my grave, social media is about to be the death of me, so I persist…

I land on his Instastory, then it dawns on me. I realized again what I realized yesterday and the day before. I should have stopped flipping, I should have unfollowed his page, I should have blocked him. I shouldn’t have to keep seeing him live what is a semblance of his best life. I shouldn’t have to watch him live the life of our joint dreams from the screen of a damn device.

*sprinkles shine shine effect to signify flashback*

*cues in the trrr trrr trrr soundbite, again to signify flashback*

He was the love of my life and we had the sweetest love story. If Romeo and Juliet got a rare chance to come back to life, it would be their sole mission to register for private ‘how to love your lover to pieces’ classes with us. We knew our love onions.

We did not aspire to wealth that could buy three Ferraris in one shopping trip. We did not aspire to a ‘daddy Bisi, your food is ready’ marriage. None of those things appealed to me or him. All we wanted from life was multiple citizenships, enough cash to travel across Europe and Asia, a home on the beach where we’d move around barely clothed, eat junk food, burn all the calories from hours of relentless sex, and walk our five dogs into the sunset. We dreamt it, talked endlessly about it, and planned it. We were going to break every traditional barrier and defy every parental warning to actualize this dream of ours.

See both of us had decent jobs, we paid our bills and didn’t rely so much on our parents because first, we had to prove that we were adult enough to handle our business. That’s not much of a deal, abi? It was our second motive for independence that should scare you. We had a pipeline stuffed full of an elopement strategy. Yes, we were mad (ly in love) like that! We saved every extra cash and often deprived ourselves of little pleasures because we had to fund our plan. It was in this period my parents touted the idea of a Masters degree but I shut it down smack-bang.

I met up with my lover later that night and passively mentioned my parents’ crazy idea. Trust my focused bae! He called my parents ‘ridiculous’ and reminded me not to let them sell this distraction to me. Who needs a Masters degree when you can be chief pirate on an island drinking fresh coconut juice and having life-changing conversations with Mother Nature every day?! And I did not doubt him.

We continued to nurture our dreams until one day, the Brad to my Angelina broke the news of his relocation to me. There was no drama to it, it was as plain as I am expressing it to you now. He was going to study for a Master of Science in Broadband Telecommunication Engineering in Scotland, and he was going to chart the course of his life afterwards.

“What’s in it for me? At what point do I join you in the UK? What about our plans?”, I asked.

The answer? Well, I’m here in my old apartment three years after, working the same shit job, more broke than I’ve ever been, my heart ripped in pieces, and of course, no Masters degree.

*Alexa, play Unbreak my Heart by Toni Braxton

Oh! It’s my crappy apartment, no Alexa here. My phone lights up, there’s a notification from the internet service provider. I’ve run out of data. I roll on my side and it’s back to being alone with my thoughts, or how do folks say it.

Sending you lots of love and waiting to read your comments,

Tolu’lope