He complained about the fact that I never wrote about him. And he was right. I wrote a piece about almost everything and everyone: lovers, friends, strangers…

But in the two years that we lived together, well almost two, and in the three years to the date after we broke up – I never published anything about him. I did write, but never managed to finish them. And that’s not because he didn’t matter, but because this story hurt me more than all the others combined.

He never truly believed I loved him, and I was out of ways to convenience him, but when I lost him, I did lose it all! Well, I still had “a drawing”.

On the last drawer of my mirror stand, there was a piece of paper he had no idea existed. I pulled it out, and there lay the plan for a renovated apartment.

One August day, soon after we came back home from our vacation, we agreed to renovate the apartment we lived in. He usually was mad why I wasn’t moving in with him completely, as I always kept my place on the side and always answered that there was not enough space for all of my things. So he decided to reconstruct his apartment internally, and we met with the architect that August day.

“I want a fireplace here, and this wall needs to be converted into library shelves for my books” – I explained to the architect.
From the kitchen came his voice – “And don’t forget shelves for your shoessss”. – and a laugh. My shoes were lying down on our bedroom floor and pretty sure he hated it.

So the final plan was to convert a bedroom into a walk-in closet connecting our own, and the third bedroom to renovate for his daughter.
“We can always change the house when we have an ‘Albanian little gangster’ – were his words when we decided to get rid of the bedroom and have the closet instead.

When I first met him, as a result of my previous relationships, I was sure I didn’t want kids. But when I saw what an amazing father he was for his daughter, how restless and tireless he was with her, and how happy they made each other, something in me changed. I wanted to give him his ‘little Albanian gangster’. I just thought “A little later down the road”…

From a “single-me”, a “never-having-kids” me, I became a girlfriend, almost a wife and I gained not only an amazing man but also an incredible little daughter. They both opened a whole new world for me with their love. For the first time in my life, I belonged somewhere. I had my own little family. But before any of this, I had his heart – the most precious thing I have ever had. And the most precious thing I have ever lost.

When I met him, I wasn’t healed. The timing wasn’t right, and I had a million issues, but he saw me. He made the timing right, and he won me over with his sweet little ways. A rose in the back of the car, a coffee for my bad moods, a calm hug to calm my anxiety.
I fell in love slowly with his eyes, his beautiful hands, and his tall body. But I fell more in love with his smile, his presence, with his gestures of love. Like when I was tired he would stand up and prepare his special cucumber-parmesan sandwiches for us. Or like when he would walk in the rain, just so he could buy me coffee from that specific place I liked. Or like when he would be late for an important meeting because he had to pick up a gift for me from the post office. Or like when he couldn’t sleep without hugging me. I fell in love with his heart. The most genuine heart anyone can ever know.

He managed to be so many things, to so many people at the same time. He was smart, he was proud, he was kind and he was the most beautiful soul I ever laid eyes on.

But he also didn’t pick up his socks from the bedroom floor, he never placed his plates in the dishwasher, he forgot our anniversaries, and he always made us late in the mornings. He never watched my favorite movies, always watched the news on the phone during our lunch, rarely planned any date nights for us, failed to prioritize things, and would always say “Let’s break up!” anytime we fought.

And, Oh Boy! Did we fight! But we always found our way back to each other. He was my home!

We even promised to get married soon. We were finally happy, at least that’s what we thought. We had overcome our issues, we learned how to forgive mistakes, and for the first time – I was ready to commit to something for the rest of my life. I remember how happy I was when I met his family, and how much happier I was when he met mine. And how on that August day, I was the happiest to finally believe that we would soon start creating our own family, in our new apartment.

And that’s when I realized, that life never goes as planned, no matter how much we want it to. Not long after the architect gave me this drawing plan, our lives turned upside-down.

He made choices that hurt us both, and I made the final choice to end our relationship. And while I have always lived a life with no regrets, if I could have the chance to change just that decision, I would. Not so we could just go back together, but because I realized that I left him when he needed me most. I was weak, and I still can’t get it out of my head – because if I was just a little bit stronger, I could have pulled us through. But I wasn’t. So I left. And because I did, he never forgave me!

I went on and put on my “Do-Not-Care” mask, hoping he would tear it down one more time. Instead, he found himself another bed. Even then, I thought, we can still find our way back to each other. But we never did.

All we found now, were awkward conversations where I lied about how much better I was without him, and he lied about how happy he was with her.
“All is perfect – he said once to me – it’s just that the house is too quiet now, even though she is there.”
And I wanted to tell him about the house renovation plan I received, and how we could fill it with our loud laughter again. But I kept still.

I needed him. More than he ever needed me.

Several times after we broke up, I had this feeling that I wanted to go home. But I knew that I wasn’t referring to a place. I wanted to run back to him. I wanted back my life – messy as it was.

I wanted back my evenings in front of the TV, all the times I sat on the living room floor with his daughter painting and playing. I wanted back the socks at the end of the bed. I wanted the fights on the rides back home. I wanted the sushi he promised but he never cooked for me. I wanted my Tiffany engagement ring that he bought me but I never got to wear it. I wanted to go home!

But because I felt homeless, I promised myself not to talk about him. Because how could I ever talk or put down in writing a pain this deep? I was stripped down of all of my reality, but also of my dreams.

When I lost him, I didn’t lose just a boyfriend. I lost a family (his) who respected me. I lost a daughter, whose little arms hugged me tight every single time and healed my soul. I lost the man my family loved and my friends cherished. I lost a husband, whose priorities were never straight but I was always on top of them! I lost my dream home, and I lost his big genuine heart.
But most importantly, I lost my ‘little Albanian gangster’. I lost the dream of being a wife. I lost the dream of being a mother. I lost my best friend. I lost my truest love…

How does someone write about all of this, without ripping her own heart apart?

We built it all. And we ruined it all!

He never believed me that I loved him. He probably never will. But I did. I loved him with all I had. And if I knew better, I would have loved him better. But I didn’t know better.

I almost had it all…

But all I have left now, is a renovation plan on a piece of paper, a slight regret, and lots of love for someone, who once upon a time, made me believe that I was worth it. That I was good enough to be a wife, a mother, and the keeper of his heart…

©fiordalipi