So tonight I come to you with a broken heart.
It’s a tragic love story – almost as tragic as Romeo and Juliet, but without the trick-suicide.
I met this guy just over a year ago in Amsterdam. And he was so kind, and friendly, and he bought me dinner. We spent three days somewhat together, sleeping in the same bed frame (although technically he was in the top bunk, but details), and then we parted way – him to France, me to England. And I didn’t even get his name.
However, I social stocked the shit out of him, and managed to find him one very little knowledge (and his name was Andrew, and he lived in LA – that was pretty much the extent of it. FBI, if you’re looking for someone to find people, I’m your girl). And throughout the past year, I’ve added (and slightly obsessed over) him on Insta and Twitter.
Any time he likes anything I post I assume it’s because he loves me. And I fantasise about him telling his friends all my funny posts and showing them pictures of me and how I’m so adorable.
But tonight – I drank the poisoned drink.
I happened upon his instagram page (I got a push notification that he posted to his story – I swear I wasn’t out creeping), and I looked through it, and he has a girlfriend.
This is the guy I’ve jokingly told my friends that we’re in love – he just didn’t know it. And any time he liked my things I’d screenshot it and send it to my girlfriend who would almost always reply “marry him”. My heart aches tonight.
Another one lost before it was even found.
Hold onto him girl. Harder than I never got the chance to.