Sex/Life 38

“You are amazing. I love you” she whispered. I smiled and tidied up her fringe, stuck on her wet forehead. Stayed in silence, staring at her blushing face. HER face. The one who left me behind. The one who broke my heart. The one I had to imagine in other faces because I thought I'd never see her again. Her beautiful face, even more beautiful than every memory I had from her. And there she was, staring back at me. Finally together again, in the other side of the world.

A drop of my sweat fell right on her naked chest. She laughed and goosebumps rose all over her skin when I tenderly attempted to dry her up. “I love you too” I said.

Always have. Always will.

Sex/Life 37

Tuesday, April 29th, around 9:02 AM. That was the last time we had sex. Rushed and quick sex before hitting the shower to go to the airport. A mock shag compared to the exhausting erotic sessions we had in the previous three weeks together. Now, 8 days after she left, frustration is taking over. Shit, not much more than a week and I'm already going crazy! It's been such a hard change. From an average of three shags a day to nothing. From her smell, her sounds, her softness, her warmth, her laugh, her presence; to nothing at all.

This entire sacrifice is supposed to pay off in the near future. Her absence now will become a life together afterwards, hopefully. Every hour without her will turn into a kiss, an embrace, a hand caressing my face or stroking my hair. Every day apart will convert in a belly laugh, holding hands while staring at each other eyes, a nice meal with friends. And making love. Hours of mutual touch, skin on skin, our bodies so close against each other that we'll forget who is who, and we'll be One. Us. Forever.

Sex/Life 36

A piano. Say something, I'm giving up on you. She looks at me. I'll be the one, if you want me to. Her blue eyes turn red, tears stream down her cheeks. “Say something” by A Great Big World plays in the background. We are having a bowl of cereal, naked in my bed. She's crying. “I'm so, so sorry” she says, weeping. I draw a sad smile on my face. “It's ok, babe; you are here now” I reply, wiping her eyes. Anywhere I would've followed you. Now I'm crying. And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. Everything is so fucked. I kiss her. Her skin is still wet with her tears. “You are here now” I say again.

Sex/Life 35

My breath has enough alcohol to get someone drunk. I'm not. Wish I was drunk, maybe that way I'd forget that I'm alone. She's gone. 2:42 AM. This will be the seventh night I'll sleep without her. I miss her so fucking much. My whole body longs for her. Autumn. Nights feel colder than ever, her side of the bed frozen, abandoned. It was 5 de Mayo just now. Tequila runs in my blood. My guts feel warm, my heart is cold. L, my love and lover, thousands of miles away, waking up now as I'm falling asleep on the keyboard. Fucking long distance.

Long distance

Long distance relationships are shit. Without the sex and the physical contact in general, you are left only with your feelings and thoughts. If these are good, everything is OK. Add some Skype, emails, Facebook messaging or any other type of communication the 2000's has brought to us, and you are set. But, what if everything is pretty much fucked from the start?

I'm currently in the most complicated relationship of my life. It never was easy. We met in Santiago last year and we got together a month before she left. In total, we spent less than a month and a half dating, and couldn't keep things alive for more than just another month through long distance. I was faithful and devoted, she wasn't. She was traveling around, having fun, and doubting the whole thing. Cheating came as the logical option for her, consequence of the lack of communication, my constant whining and the temptation she had right next to her, while I was just this Chilean guy stuck in the other side of the world and whom she'd probably never see again.

I never stopped thinking about her, but didn't stay at home crying. Dried my tears fast and started getting my shit together, sex-wise at least. When I could finally get back in touch with her, I had already moved on. Didn't know she was with another guy during this awful month apart-but-together, not until we started talking again. I didn't care at the time, I was really excited about the chance to get back with her. And, well, I was also high on emotions with this other girl that was coming back to live with me after a very good week of passion in Santiago. Then cheating, this time, came easy for me. It was the logical thing to do, a fucking vendetta for what she'd done to me.

Was it worth it? Nope. I thought I would feel we were even and from that point we could restart our relationship with a clean slate; but only got a month of mixed emotions living with another girl while loving her in the distance. Instead of leveling things, I destroyed all the trust she had in me and ended up breaking her and the other girl's heart, creating a dark spot of guilt and regret in me.

I can't say our relationship started off on the right foot. She fucked up, I fucked up, and stuff looks very fucked up. I'm hurting. I know what I did was dreadful, probably way worse than what she did. Yet her fault pains so deep inside I sometimes wonder if I took the right choice getting back together. But why does it sting so hard in my head and heart? Is it the simple fact of imagining her having sex with somebody else while I was struggling to remain faithful and suffering for her distance? Is it the betrayal? Or maybe the hateful comparison I am forced to do between this other fucker and me? Because this man represents everything I am not; all the strengths I don't have, all the features she didn't see in me at that moment and dragged her to his arms instead.

Insecure as I am, I was never jealous; not until nowadays. Ironically, I don't believe she will cheat on me again. She's changed. She's devoted, caring, open, and I can really feel the love she says she feels for me is true and similar to the one I feel for her; but she can't seem to understand my feelings about the past, nor can I get to explain them to her. It's so fucking annoying, but, is it her fault? She traveled all the way back to Chile for me, there's no room to doubt her commitment now. We are great together, and while she was here we had a great time; a time that showed us that this is what we both want. Even though, I'm constantly haunted by these negative thoughts, this jealousy over her past, especially about her sex life and her affair with this other person. She is willing to help me with that, but I can't avoid getting lost in these dark places of my mind sometimes, and even more now that she's gone again.

Long distance relationships are shit. Being apart from her is shit. Feeling like shit because of past shit is shit. So much shit in my life makes it feel like a fucking toilet. Which, now that I think about it, may not be completely bad. Toilets can be flushed, right? Now I have to find the way to flush all this shit out, once and for all.

My apology

- Do you want to have sex with me? -I said.
- Really? - he asked, surprised.
- Yes.
- Just like that?
- Sure. Works every time -I replied.


I was telling an ex schoolmate my ultimate technique to get with a girl. Being as direct as it gets, which, shit you not, works like a charm. If you don't believe me, ask him. A few days after, he came back and told me that he had followed my advice and it did the trick for him. Since that day he calls me “Captain.”

Captain. Sounded good. It was a nickname I never thought I would get, especially not for my womanizer skills. Yeah, me, a ladies man. Unbelievable! Me, a guy who lost his fucking virginity at 21 and stayed with his first and only girl for over 8 years just because he firmly believed he sucked at getting laid and, basically, everything related to the opposite sex... or sex, period.

What changed? Well, I was miserable and the sex with my ex, if I got any, was extremely boring and frustrating. Breaking up was a good start, I guess. Coming back to the “meat market” also helped. Experiencing things I should have experienced during my 20's in only 4 months, before turning 30, was an excellent boost, too. But I wasn't quite there yet. I wouldn't think of that version of myself as the ultimate Casanova, nor I would expect to be called Captain for that. What changed then? More than what, it was a who. She changed me.

I loved her. And, along with her, I loved the man I became while being with her. Because even though, before she appeared in my life, I had already realized I was way more attractive and interesting than I used to believe, I was still ashamed of my performance under the sheets. She changed that. Oh, God, the sex! Un-fucking-believable. If there's something she left in me, besides a broken heart after dumping me, was the sex.

I had nothing to brag about before. Then, all of a sudden, I found myself in a spiral of sweat, warmth, nudity and pleasure, seasoned with some awkwardness and emptiness every now and then. I felt like I had a power, a gift. Thanks to this new found arousing knowledge and the improved sexual performance that came with it, I rebuilt myself as the character I always wanted to be, but never had the guts to. Yes, I had changed, but to be this new person I had to leave behind fundamental values. I cheated, I lied, I fucked up and around and, when I had the chance to stop, I kept doing it for one last time, because it wasn't enough yet.

With her, my beloved, out of the picture, I was devastated. But soon the devastation gave way to a fruitful sex drive. The more I got laid, the better I got at it. My self-confidence reached the skies and I was feeling like I was touching the stars with my dick. I got cocky and stupid. Met a very nice Danish girl and, despite I knew she was interested in me, I just kept her as my fuck buddy while I tried with some other girls. Breaking a foot didn't stop me. Internet became my allied to keep shagging other girls while I was with her. One of them, a British girl, was the more important. So important that almost made me forget the Norwegian who'd broken my heart. Almost.

The British girl was on her way back to me, after being traveling around. I knew things could get deeper than occasional sex, and I felt ready to give myself to this new relationship. I cheated on my previous girl before to be with her, and now this foul was going to be worth it. Yet I had a hunch, a distracting feeling that wouldn't allow me to fully focus on what I was starting to feel for her. To shake this thoughts off my head, I contacted my Norwegian ex. “What if there's still a chance?” I thought. Miraculously, there was. But there was also lots of resentment on my side; so much that, although I loved her, I let the British girl come to live with me anyway. It was a fun month, contaminated by mixed feelings of joy and self-loathing, and that ended with me telling the truth on the last days and breaking the Brit's heart.

Now that everything is over, I'm back with her. She, my first and only love. She, the one who showed me there's more to life than the depressing sexual and affective ways I'd suffered before with my ex. But I can't be with her at peace knowing what I did. I can't enjoy her as much as I'd like, not without offering her my apology.

I am very sorry for being a jackass to you and to your gender, in general.

Sex/Life 34

She's gone. While I write this, her plane takes L thousands of miles away from me. She left and the emptiness there is now in me can't be filled with the remains she left behind. Instagram pictures, Facebook posts, a stack of Philippine coins on my drawer and three books. Unmade bed, dirty dishes, a towel drying in my terrace. All signs that she was here, reminders of the three weeks we spent together. Memories of laugh, tears and sex.

L, my lover, my dream of a future.

Jeg elsker deg. Te amo. I love you.

Sex/Life 33

We fucked on the couch. We planed coming back to my place from the airport in complete silence, and once back at the flat, throw away all of our shit and clothes to have wild sex on the table. That was only one of the many things we planed during these two months of endless Skype conversations, unstoppable Facebook messages and occasional Snapchats. One of the many things that, 9 days in, we haven't done.

Expectations hit the brick wall of reality and our dreams of passion and romance got so disfigured after this crash that they needed urgent plastic surgery. Now they don't look as beautiful as before, yet I couldn't say they are ugly. They look normal now; as normal as it feels going to bed and wake up next to each other every morning. As normal as it is for me to cook and for her to wash the dishes, or just sitting in my terrace to have a laugh drinking cheap beer. And, you know what? I fucking love it! I've never felt more comfortable in my life, so understood, so accepted, so embraced... so loved.

Nope, we did not have wild sex on the table, but it was great anyway. We fucked on the couch.

Once again

I can clearly remember the song I heard the first time I got drunk. I was seventeen and, while I zigzagged to the bathroom of that beach bar, Space Oddity by David Bowie started playing. I can also recall that, the first time I kissed my long lasting ex, we were listening to Travis and their version of Britney Spears' Baby one more time. But when I think about who I believe to be the woman of my life, the song that pops in my head is one I fucking hate: Get Lucky, by Daft Punk. And I don't hate that song only because I literally heard it EVERYWHERE for several months. The reason because I hate it the most is because it reminded me of her, L, during that horrible period after she broke up with me.

I was a complete mess for over 6 months. L had taught me how to love and showed me this feeling is real, despite of what I'd learned before with my previous experiences. She became the sweetness that justified living 30 years of bitterness. So you can imagine it was really hard for me to let her go after she called the end of our relationship. How was I suppose to do that? My head understood her words, her rejection; but my heart was stuck on her past “I love you's.”

Had to go through many processes, from unconditional love to unleashed hate, to get to a point in which I could feel I finally moved on. And, right then, the impossible happened. L, having realized she never stopped loving me, came back into my life. It was great, yet absolutely shitty in its timing. Moving on hadn't only meant turning the page and jumping to the next chapter of my personal history. It also implied starting a new relationship and a life change; all things I wasn't willing to give up so easily.

Did what I had to do, or what I thought I had to. In the end, I just fucked up. Gave a try to the new relationship while I wouldn't stop talking to L. When the new girl realized there was something odd going on, I had to confess the whole deal. She left me with her heart broken, but she wasn't the only one hurt. L suffered the whole time, knowing that after I turned off Skype I would go and sleep with another person. And I can't even say I enjoyed myself either. The guilt for the damage I was causing to everyone involved in this strange situation wouldn't leave me alone.

After the new girl was gone, things didn't get much better between L and me. She was half way around the world and I was surrounded by temptation. Add a great deal of resentment on my part, justified mistrust on her side, and you get an awful mix. Plus, the distance wasn't helping. What's the point of having a disfunctional relationship if you can't even have epic sex to make it be worth it?

Nowadays I wonder if there's a happy ending for this story. I could only rely on wishful thinking to say “yes.” I made a big mistake, and L did her own share. Don't say it's gonna be easy to leave all that behind us and focus only on our common present and possible future together. There's a lot to fix yet. Although I cannot say I'm pessimistic about it, because she already took the first leap of faith to make up for her errors. Right now, as I write these words, she's on a plane from London to Santiago de Chile. I have no idea how tomorrow's reunion is gonna be and I won't hide that I'm very nervous about it. However, this feels right. Messed up and all, I think our love story deserves we give it a try, at least once again.

Sex/Life 32

We spent over half of our relationship in bed, naked, both physically and emotionally. It was winter in Santiago. Too cold and gray outside to go out, too warm and cosy under the sheets to ever leave them. But she left. I didn't wash those sheets for more than a month after that, until she broke up with me. I listened to Keane's Hamburg Song and cried every time. “I wanna be the place you call home” they sang. I was home, but it never felt like it was my home anymore. She was. Could feel it in each embrace, stare, kiss, smile, shag...

...I'll be home soon.

The boy done wrong again

Has it ever happened to you that there's this song you've listened to for a while now but you've never really payed attention to the lyrics, until once you did and it absolutely changed the way you felt about this particular tune? Today it happened to me. Walking back home, listening to Belle and Sebastian, I played this quiet song, The boy done wrong again. Standing in the corner, blank staring at the traffic light, the music streamed from my ears to my soul, making guilt take over my feelings with these lines: “What is it I must do to pay for all my crimes? / What is it I must do? I would do it all the time.”

Looking back in my love and sex life I can't but regret so many things I did. I've hurt anyone that's ever been with me, everyone that's liked or just cared about me. It's like a reflex, a mean instinct from some dark place in my mind. Why am I like that? How is it possible for me to get away with that every single time to move on to the next “victim”? I have no idea. Ironic as this sounds, I consider myself a good person. There are never bad intentions behind my acts, nor I do any of this things on purpose. Just happens.

Daddy issues? Sure! Growing up in a home dominated by psychological violence -or even physical sometimes- didn't help me to get the notion of a right behavior towards women. My father, an old fashion sexist Latin man, set the perfect example of what I didn't want to become. I admired my mom for how she remained a strong woman and did her best to raise me and my three siblings as good persons with profound values, given the circumstances. After that, I tried to keep on her good work, but failed miserably every time.

I spent way too long stuck in a relationship that didn't fulfill me. She, among all the other girls of my life, was the one who had to put up with the more shit. I can partially understand why I did that. I was unhappy, frustrated, nagged. Never loved her and I never felt loved. Probably it was this phobia I got after breaking up the cause of the damage I caused afterwards. Relationships scare the shit out of me. Remind me of those almost nine years of constant emptiness I went through with my ex. Each start with a new girl, even if it was just a one night stand, took me back to those gloomy days.

There was just one girl I never hurt; on the contrary, I was nothing but good to her. I fell in love. But it wasn't enough, or maybe it was just me who wasn't enough. She treated me very poorly and then dumped me, despite she said many times that she loved me as well. The grim era that started after she left me was in which I caused the more sorrow. I had opened my heart and all I got in return was suffering. Therefore I was closed, a huge wall guarding my deepest feelings. Fucking around I tried to forget her, but only got to replace my pain for the one I caused to others.

Now I'm retired. The girl that I once loved came back into my life, and guess what? I hurt her too. The only difference this time is that I could say I was hurting her back, but that doesn't make it any better. I'm not seeking revenge. I am on a quest to find and experience true love and, finally, to establish a relationship with all the ideals I write and dream about. Because if I have learned something from all the wrong I've done is that it hurts both them and myself. This has to stop. That's why I'm retiring from the market. Seems my journey has come to an end, and that end looks pretty much like love. She and I brought sadness to each others life, yet the joy that came with it shines a light more powerful than the darkness we've been blinded with. For the wellbeing of she, me and all the girls that'd come after her if this doesn't work, I hope it's fucking worth it this time.

Sex/Life 31

11. At this very same time, 11 days from now, she'll be lying in bed with me. 11. I'll be so deep inside her mind, body and soul she won't be herself anymore. Neither will I. It's gonna be Us, one single entity made of flesh, sweat, warm fluids and skin, wrapped in the sheets of a broken bed. Hands on fire, eyes wide open, absence of consciousness. Breathing heavily, moaning we'll break the silence of the room. Hours shall pass and we'll never lose the embrace, as we try to erase all what happened since the last one. And we will. 11 days to go. Just 11...

Tripping

Tuesday. No, wait a minute. It's 3:53 AM already, so it's Wednesday. I look myself in the elevator mirror. My eyes are practically black. My pupils are wide open. I'm fucking tripping. Had a third of a LSD stamp like 3 hours ago and this shit feels like it's never gonna stop. I don't see new colors or shapes talking to me. My body feels really weird and the back of my head is pretty much like a helium ballon, floating over my neck. I can't think, walk or talk straight. And I've laughed for over an hour to a guy who was joking about how he raped baby Jesus' anus. Yeah. I smiled again while writing it. Keeps being hilarious. Fucking trip. Fucking LSD. Fucking distance. I miss her and I can't seem to stop fucking up. Fuck!

Sex/Life 30

She didn't cry, but I saw the sadness in her green eyes. The Mancunian girl looked at me and said “she's better fucking worth it.” I agreed. “Me too” I responded, feeling like shit. It was me who provoked that sorrow in her, but not even I was sure I was making the right choice. Felt the need to confess that I had been talking with my Norwegian ex, the infamous “viking”, and that she wanted to get back with me. And it was me too who invited her to live with me, knowing beforehand that I was still in love with that ex. It was me who couldn't let go the opportunity of being with both of them again. I was the one who got his feelings confused every day of the three weeks she had already lived with me as my lover. And it was me who cried. For her, for my ex and, most of all, for the old version of myself who used to believe that the British girl with whom he bonded so easily could be one he could love. It were tears of mourning I cried. He had died.

Us

I met a very interesting girl that Tuesday. It was my first time there and we started talking at random to soon realize we had a good chemistry. I wanted to see her again, but time passed and that started to seem impossible.

Sex with her at first was really weird. Though, we had a connection our first date, and it was enough to make us connect bed-wise as well. Sex wasn't weird anymore. It was the best I've ever had.

I fell in love with her. I could only tell when I met her again in Buenos Aires, after she left Chile to go back home. Sometimes we looked into each others eyes and I was so immensely happy that some tears would drop from my eyes. Tears of joy.

It was impossible. Our relationship was doomed after she left. We tried to keep it alive, but the distance, the doubts, the suffering; all led to the end. She broke up with me from a hotel in Vietnam. She broke me.

Coming back from the darkness was hard. I met other women, but never felt a connection. Sex was just a distraction, but never really enjoyed it. She was in my head all the time. I even got to the point when I couldn't take it anymore and would write her, just to get it out of my system. A cry for help. Calling out her heart. All I got back was rejection, if I ever got an answer.

Months passed and my heart healed. She was a ghost that kept hunting me, but it hurt less. Until I met another girl. No more darkness.

I spent a week with the new girl, and she left promising she'd return. I didn't think about my old love anymore. There was a new one taking form in my heart. Still, times would come in which a little sting would bother me. "What if she comes back?" I thought. I then immediately would shake that off my head. It was impossible.

To finally move on, I made something that seemed stupid but necessary. I wrote the old girl an email entitled "Last chance." Just got my last deepest thoughts about her out of my head and into words. Wasn't expecting for an answer. Against all odds, I got it.

She was afraid. Ever since she felt our connection the first time, she was terrified by the idea of feeling something profound for me. It was impossible. But she felt it and although she broke up with me and hid that feeling away, it never faded out. Reading my last email made her realize that, but it was too late. I had already moved on.

She confessed she still loved me. I did the same. But when the new girl asked me if she could come in a few days, I said yes. I was afraid. I was hurt. "Is she coming back for good or will she leave me behind again?" I thought every time I talked to old girl.

New girl lived with me for a month. She became my friend and lover. At some points I felt traces of a love that could have been and would doubt my choice. Because I kept in contact with the old girl the whole time. She knew almost everything, except for my ever changing feelings. Didn't want to lose any of them.

In the end, love came through. I couldn't wait or lie any longer. A few days before the new girl was to leave, I told her everything. I had always show my emotional distance and warned her about it, but my doubts and the way I was to her led her to get deeper feelings anyway. She was sad and felt stupid after my confession. I felt like a heartless monster, but I had made my decision. I loved the other girl. Always did.

Now the hard part of the story begins. The new girl is gone, but the wound is very fresh in the old girls heart. I fucked up. I fucked things up big time, but can't see another way in how things would have gone if it wasn't like this. Explaining it will be my mission. Explaining myself and rebuilding our story, her trust. Forgive her for all she made me suffer, and forgive myself for hurting her back.

I am human. Full of imperfection, insecurities, weakness. I have fallen and taken ages to get back on my feet again. I have made mistakes. So has she. Now we are both standing next to the other. We both fucked up in our time, yet here we are, looking forward to meet again. "It was impossible" we thought, but we chose to love, we chose each other. This is/was/will be our story. The story of us.

Us.

Sex/Life 29

A number. I'm drunk and stupid and all I can think about is a number. Her number. Left the party early, overwhelmed by Saint Patrick's celebrations and all those green and happy people. I thought about her and her bloody fucking number. One, two, five thousand figures. It was a mystery to me. Rushed back home. On the bus, more joy. Saturday party people going somewhere to have fun. Me, already drunken, felt pathetic. Why was it so important? What difference did it make? Whether she slept with half the men in the world or with just a few guys, did it really matter? Was it so important if, after all of those motherfuckers, she chose me? Should I hate them all or actually thank them for throwing her into my arms? Opened the door, spread my stuff all over my flat and sit in front of the computer. Started writing. “Her number” I typed. Outside, people laugh and drink and fuck. And cry. I cried for her. She cried for me. And we fucked. And we laughed. Now her number seems irrelevant. I love her. She loves me. Only me. “Thanks guys. Thanks for being so shit. So shit she couldn't but fall for me” I type. But don't smile. I remember her. I miss her. Shit, I wish I could just keep thinking about the stupid fucking number.

Sex/Life 28

She couldn't begin to understand what was so different about me, what was this thing about honesty and emotional openness. “I'm naked all the time... metaphorically, mostly” I said. She laughed. She always did it, a lot. I really liked her for that. “You are a fascinating man” she responded. So she came back. The Mancunian came back to Santiago for a second round of the Eduardo Experience. But things changed not long before she arrived. “I came to be with you, but feels like there are three people in your bed when we sleep together” she said, a couple of weeks after coming to live here with me. She had a point. Being in touch again with my Norwegian ex collapsed my inner self and brought back to life zombie feelings of past love. I wasn't that fascinating man anymore.

Sex/Life 27

She broke my heart. I broke my bed fucking other women, trying to forget her. Couldn't. It was her whom I was shagging. She, with different face, smell, taste. She and only she. How many of those girls did I hurt? One, two, four, all of them? I did feel bad. Felt bad but did it anyway. Brought them close to push her away. Pushed them away to get her back. But she was gone. Long gone. I was alone, and even lonelier while accompanied in my broken bed.

Sex/Life 26

Her room was a mess. Dozens of papers, magazines and books piling up in every corner. Clothes spread all over the place, like victims of a fashion terrorist attack. Pictures, notes, newspaper scraps, all taped to the wall. And her bed... oh, her untidy bed. We laid there, me hugging her from behind, while she was going through her music on her laptop, singing along. Me, silent, watching her whispering lyrics to the beat of the music. “I know you are in love with me” she said. I wasn't. Not there yet. Changed the subject and had sex with her, not minding she was on her period. She was a mess, just like her room. Soon after I was caught in love with that mess.

Don't fall in love

Do you want a piece of advice? Do not fall in love. You see, loving is a gigantic task you may not want to get involved in. Need any reasons? I'll give you a few for you to consider.

Loving is caring. It means taking care of somebody else than yourself, committing to look up for their welfare and your own at the same time. Exhausting!

Loving is dangerous. It awakes your worst nightmares and demons. Jealousy, pride, prejudice, insecurity; you name it. It requires you to be strong enough to fight them, smart enough to ignore them and firm enough to choose love over them all.

Loving is weakness. Makes you vulnerable because it forces you to open up completely to the other person. It's brutal honesty, humbleness, physical and emotional nudity. You must be who you are, your true self, no masks nor faking. It's leaving your comfort zone and exposing all your wounds and flaws.

Loving is losing. You give up part of your freedom and independence, adjusting your life and space to be with the object of your affection. You forget about all “the fishes in the sea”, because you are already taken, off the market. Your roofless individuality now ends where the other's starts. Kiss goodbye your selfishness, there's no room for it anymore.

Loving is growing. It requires you to improve yourself to the fullest, because to deliver the best of you in the relationship means also that you must be the best version of yourself you can be. Doesn't mean you have to be perfect, because imperfection is part of the package. You must embrace your imperfection, using it in your favor. Because imperfection is what makes us human, and a human who, despite its own flaws, reaches a higher level of personal growth, defines perfection itself.

Loving is investing. Your time, energy, tears, sweat... sometimes even money! Though as an investment it's the worst you can make. You can't expect anything in return; is giving selflessly, limitless and in good faith.

Loving is adventure. When you jump into it, you start a quest. Every day is a challenge, an exploration in the unknown. It's discovering the other and yourself, constantly wondering in the deepest boundaries of the soul and the worldly whatnot of life in common. This search, this journey, is not to take the relationship for granted, to make it stronger over time.

And, over all, loving is sharing. It's to deliver the most of you. Your happiness, your dreams, your sense of humor, your weird kinks. It's to be there for the other because you want to, not for obligation, not for need. Searching for balance all the time, avoiding the game of “master/slave.” Bear a part in the life of your significant other as well as them are part of yours. It's quiting for once and for all flying solo and hold hands to start walking towards a present and a future as Us or We, instead of Just Me.

So, after reading all this, do you still think you wanna fall in love? Because, as Roman Krznaric says in his article, love is a word nowadays is used lightly. The increasing rate of divorces around the world, the ever growing cases of violence among couples of all ages, the inhumanization of society due to the importance they now give to individualism. All the above are factors to take in consideration when we talk about love. Is it what it used to be? Do you think you can give yourself to it for real and not in the shallow way most people do these days? If not, and I say this for your own good, just don't fall in love.