These days, talking to people feels like a chore. I try to connect and smile, but it seems like my presence doesn’t matter much. I don’t know anymore if I want love or loneliness. I can pack up and leave, and nothing would change. There’s a deep vulnerability in admitting that, but it’s the truth. Nobody seems to need me here.

Moving to a new city or country wouldn’t make a difference. I’d still feel the same. I wouldn’t have anyone there either. I’m so disconnected and drained. My therapist calls it emotional burnout—I have zero energy left.

Dealing with people’s pretentious behaviors and games is so exhausting. Maybe people were playing such games before. They didn’t affect me as much as today. I had some inner resources to deal with things then. Now, they drain me more than they charge me.

I’m tired of being there for others when I have enough on my plate. My phone fills up with unread messages, but I don’t have the energy to respond. I prefer being alone, sleeping a lot to escape.

Loneliness in the Wrong Arms

This can be dangerous sometimes because when loneliness becomes overwhelming, I can end up doing things I wouldn’t expect. Things that are not good for me. Last year, for example, I entered a relationship simply because I couldn’t bear my own loneliness.

I wasn’t in love, and I wasn’t even enjoying what I had. It was so stressful and filled with anxiety, but the thought of leaving was even more frightening. I used to judge people in similar situations, and now I found myself becoming one of them. 

He was a partyer, emotionally unavailable, and dishonest person. We had little in common. I stayed in that relationship for too long. When I finally left, I realized the pain cut much deeper than I could have imagined.

Loneliness is tough, but it’s far better than being with someone who destroys me. He made me sick, both physically and emotionally. Learning this lesson came at a big price for me. It left deep wounds on my soul that I’m still recovering from.

The Illusion of Time

Sometimes I hear people around me saying that life goes on. They mention that I am young, so I will feel better later. They believe the future won’t be as it has been in the past. I think this way of thinking comes from an assumption that I will have a lot of time ahead of me.

But what if I end up like my cousin? Her name was Reyhane. She was the same age as I am now when she died. Her death was so sudden and unexpected. She was a very ambitious artist.

She went through a divorce, gave everything she had to her husband to get custody of their 2-year-old. She started a life from scratch, moved to another city, took so many courses to become a hairstylist, and became good at it. When she finally started her own business, the car accident happened; her son survived, but she died. 

Her son witnessed his mom’s dying. In later years, he shuffled between households. It was heartbreaking to see how he moved from his father’s and stepmom’s to his grandparents’. Now he is at my aunt’s house. Unfortunately, my uncle hates him, believing he’s the reason of his daughter death.

Even as I write this, it feels surreal. It’s like a scene from a movie. But it’s the harsh reality I’ve seen. My cousin’s artwork, her brushes, colors, clothes, her smile, ambitions, and love—all buried with her for almost ten years now. Why do we assume we have endless time?

Fran also told me about his cousin while we were together in the rainy streets of Berlin. We had no umbrella; I was covering my hair with my scarf, and he was wearing a hat. We stood outside a closed bar, the rain pouring down and washing the streets clean as people rushed past us.

He was looking at me, while shifting his look occasionally to the cobblestones of the street. His voice trembled slightly as he began to speak. They were like brothers, growing up together.

Fran had a father, his cousin didn’t. As they grew older, his cousin got involved in drug-related crimes. Fran found his way to university. Meanwhile, his cousin slipped into a life of crime. There was no one to help him escape.

Fransico’s eyes filled with regret as he spoke. “I can’t shake this feeling that I’ve abandoned him,” he told me. “He’s my family, my roots. I feel like I should’ve done more to help him, to save him from this life.”

Maybe vulnerability has been the key to the connection between me and Fran. We share a lot of our feelings, stories, and thoughts.

I’m amazed by how deeply he understands me. He gently cares for my wounds when I’m vulnerable around him. He told me that none of our feelings are invalid. We need to take care of them even if they don’t make sense.

Vulnerability and A Parisian Pause

It was March and I was feeling unwell. I decided to leave Berlin for a brief holiday. I chose Paris as my destination. Wrapped in my long black coat, I felt the Parisian elegance.

I was wearing my glasses and my blond hair was moving gently in the air. Beneath the coat, I was wearing a black dress that had pink blossoms on it. As I wandered the streets once Sartre and Simone used to walk, I imagined them sharing kisses at this very crossroad. Then hand in hand, they discussed philosophy for hours in their favorite café. 

I walked in an old cemetery, where they now lay side by side. Their names were written on the stone, one above the other. The tomb was decorated with flowers, letters, and even transportation tickets.

Among them, a card stood out saying: “thanks for making the world a better place.” Sartre passed away eight years before Simone, with her caring for him in his final years. For some reason, it’s comforting to see them buried together, after all the other lovers who came and went. 

In another life, if I were French, perhaps my name would end with the letter “e,” like Claire or Sophie. Maybe my dad would have been a writer. My mom might have been a chef in a cozy local restaurant.

She would have had many customers. In that life, I might have found myself dating more girls than guys and experiencing fewer struggles, yet still feeling like something was missing.

If I had met Fran in that scenario, perhaps we wouldn’t have clicked as much. It might have been challenging to relate to him if I came from a privileged family. Perhaps it would have taken years of traveling the world, maybe even meeting someone like Valentine and journeying with him for a while, before I started to develop feelings for Fran.

Valentin once said that we crave the love we give to be returned. I knew I loved him deeply. I couldn’t help but share this with Fran. I confessed that Valentin was the love of my life.

Yet, deep in my heart there were moments I questioned Valentin’s feelings for me. At times, his affection seemed undeniable, but then, unexpectedly, I felt that he pulled away, leaving me in doubt. It made me wonder, how crucial is reciprocity in love?

Fran entered my life through his ex-girlfriend. Without her introduction, our paths might never have crossed. After she moved away from Berlin and they ended things, I remember her spending a night in my room, her eyes full of tears.

She was crying and telling me no one had ever made her feel the way he did. Those tears left me with a sense of guilt, especially since Fran began to show interest in me.

“What stops you from being with Francisco?” My therapist asked me in one of our sessions in February. “I think the main reason is her. I don’t want to hurt her. And also, there’s a lack of attraction. What if everything ends up being exactly the same as it was with Valentine?” I told my therapist.

When my friend and Francisco ended their relationship, she left Berlin. Francisco and I started seeing each other more often. It was during this time that I began to notice a change in how he looked at me, how he spoke to me.

I could sense his feelings for me were deepening. But it just reminded me of the pain in her eyes, the way she spoke of him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason for more hurt.

I then began to become hesitant to be alone with him. I thought if I could just keep our interactions casual, in groups, then maybe any possible feelings would fade away. Was I ready to explore this new dimension of feelings for Fran?

The answer was complicated, and so, I kept my distance. It was a conscious effort, a way to reassure myself that I was not going to let anything happen between us. No more pain, especially not to someone I cared about deeply. 

She once said, “We’re here to love; that’s what life’s all about.” Was I unintentionally pulling her past love towards me, shifting his attention away from her? Was I the reason he wasn’t going back to her?

I had to talk to her about it. I wanted to know how she felt about Fran and me. Her response surprised me. She said she had already sensed this coming and that she was okay with it. She reassured me that our friendship would remain strong, no matter what happened between Francisco and me. 

Between Friendship and Something More

Before my trip, Francisco gave me a letter. He handed it to me on the train and asked me to open it later, after I had left. I waited until I reached Paris to read it. Inside, I found a small piece of paper, with his delicate and neat handwriting, so similar to mine. The letter said:

“Many people and recent situations have inspired me to write to you about love, but you were undoubtedly the main inspiration. I have discovered that we can love others without expectations when we learn to love ourselves without expectations, without fear, without guilt.

This has already changed my life, and I want to thank you for all our conversations. I want you to know how important you are to me. I want you in my life, and I want to get rid of the fear of losing you. I want to continue building this safe space that we’ve created. I want us to keep caring about each other and maintaining this beautiful connection that we don’t need to name. 

“Love is to change something new within you”, as someone wise once said. I’m looking forward to seeing love change new things in ourselves. Thank you for being here for me, for helping me to know myself better, and for making me believe I can be whatever I want. You’re the most incredible person I have ever met. If you ever feel like love doesn’t love you, I will be there to tell you I’m sure love does love you, and I love you too.”

Folding his letter, I felt an urge to reach out to him. His words had touched me deeply. “I love you too, but what if I mess it up again? What if I get hurt again?” I confessed over the phone, my heart was racing with uncertainty. 

“I want to proudly say that what we have is the love I’ve been searching for. It’s a choice we make to be together, not because we need to, but because we truly want to. But I’m so scared. What if I’m only feeling this way because I’m so lonely?”

When I returned to Berlin, I was surprised to find him there waiting for me. There he stood, wearing that familiar smile. I asked him, “Why did you come all the way here?”

“Because you shared something very important, you were vulnerable, you opened your heart, and when you do that, I want to give you love,” he replied.

He looked down at my lips, and this time, I was not hesitant. I leaned in and met his lips with mine.

“If you’re afraid of things coming to an end, would you rather know now or later?” my therapist asked me. 

“Before, I always wanted to know as soon as possible, not to waste my time. I was always ready to find reasons to leave, to protect myself from potential hurt. But now, I just want to hold onto these feelings for as long as I can.

I deserve to feel this way, and I hope it lasts. Even if everything changes eventually, I want to keep feeling this way for as long as possible.” I replied.

“What do you think has changed your mind about accepting his love?” My therapist asked. 

“I think it’s that I started to love myself and to silence the voice inside me that said I was unworthy of love. I got so tired of doubting whether I deserve what he’s willing to offer me, and what I can give him in return. I still have my fears; it’s scary to be close to someone, and it’s also scary to be so alone.

But I no longer want to fight my fears or try to feel my emotions in a certain way. The only thing I want is to stop making decisions driven by fear. It’s pointless trying to be fearless. I just don’t want to be fearful anymore.” I explained.

Spring, Finally

They say love’s opposite isn’t hatred, but fear. And somehow, fear doesn’t grip me anymore. I’m not scared of falling in love, because this time we already were in love. Just the thought of him makes me smile, as if it’s beyond my control.

As I walk down the street, I see pink blossoms everywhere. The sun warms my face delicately. With each step I take, I feel the peace within myself. I’m thinking of the journey before me. There used to be a shadow cast over all my relationships, a fear that held me back.

It influenced my actions, my feelings, the people I chose, and how they hurt me, as well as how I hurt myself. But now, something has shifted within me. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, allowing me to embrace love openly. I am hopeful.

Spring has arrived. Not just outside, but also within me.