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I Didn’t Stop Loving Him, but I Think I Stopped Loving Me
Every two years, my biological clock sets off. No, it is not about babies. Even If I’m a woman, I feel nothing about having a baby inside of me. No, this is a lie. I do feel something: fear. But to what I’m referring to is something else which is honestly odd, even to myself. Every two years, I enter a somewhat state of deep anxiety, which makes me renounce my way of living and seek something radically different. It was all games and plays until I entered a relationship approximately two years ago. Little did I know, and little did we all know that we would be facing a world pandemic a few months later.
In my recent encounter with my best girlfriend, I noticed that the pandemic has been lived in very different ways. She, for example, hasn’t changed a single thing in her life, and wearing a mask outside did not disturb her mind. It did not bother my mind either; not wearing that is not what wrecked me, but the whole situation did. After a few weeks, we started officially calling ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend.
The company where he worked began to have problems. This led to late payments, and workers were sent home for a while without pay. What is funny- and read funny with its strange meaning-, is that he seems to not really remember this moment in time, although it has only been not even two full years.
