thelesbianlifestyle.com

I fell in love when I was fifteen. It was glorious. For about four years. And then she slept with my brother. I stepped aside. I didn’t, couldn’t stop loving. But I stopped dreaming, or even hoping. She came back. Said it had been a mistake. Asked me to forgive her and take her back. I did both. She got married. Has two children now. Lives in a different country. We haven’t spoken in almost ten years.

Then, three years later, I met someone. Again. I refused to love. But it got through the walls I’d built around me anyway. It lasted a year. And then she went with some random guy she’d met on a train. I knew it was bound to happen. So I just shrugged and walked out of her life. She didn’t let me. She begged and cried. I stayed. She continued cheating on me and I stood on the sidelines watching it happen. Then I left. This time certain that I’d had enough.

Four years after that I met Her. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. She was everything I’d ever wanted; is everything I could ever ask for. We were together for about a year. It was unbelievable. Now we’re “friends”. I hate that. I hate that she isn’t in the same place as me. I know we’d be great together. She does too. But we’re not together. Probably never will be.

I’m almost 28. And I’m fed up. Of waiting and wondering. Of hoping and dreaming. Of loving. I’m fed up of straddling the fence between dream and nightmare.

I’ve had it with love. Love’s a bitch.