The Stranger I loved
Some connections in life are as transformative as they are bittersweet. They teach us profound lessons about love, self-awareness, and growth, even as they challenge us to let go. Z is one such connection in my life—a person whose presence brought both joy and confusion, and whose absence taught me the power of reflection and acceptance.
I never saw him coming. He came into my life during a time when I felt lost—not looking for anyone, just trying to find myself. He showed up quietly, not seeking attention, just there. I barely noticed him at first, and I never expected him to change my life, but he did. There was something about him—something real and unfiltered—that drew me in.
When I met him, I was 21, turning 22. I'm 25 now, and with time comes perspective. Back then, I thought I knew who I was, but I didn’t really know myself at all. And then here comes this mystery of a man with more depth, complexity, and wisdom than anyone I had ever known.
He was free-spirited—the type of person who would dance on the sidewalk with his headphones on, completely lost in his own world. You know the kind—when you see someone at the train station, moving to a rhythm only they can hear. Depending on your mindset, you might think they're on something. But Z wasn’t. He was just free. I loved that about him. I wanted that courage—to be so present, so unapologetically seen.
I fell in love with him—not because of what he could give me but because of who he was. He didn’t need to promise me anything or show me the world. My love for him wasn’t tied to grand gestures or expectations. Even though we spent so much time together—even though we were in a relationship for about 15 months—it felt like I only knew fragments of him. He always remained a bit of a mystery, a puzzle I could never quite piece together.
When we were together, he shared parts of himself—his goals, his ambitions, his stories—but there was always a gap between his words and his actions. It often felt like I was seeing only a version of him, not the whole truth. I never judged him for that, but I also never fully understood him. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t in a place to recognize my own needs or boundaries. I let things slide, noted the inconsistencies, and kept moving forward without addressing them.
A Love That Healed Me
He fell in love with me too—something I now realize he didn’t see coming. He even told me he would’ve been a "hoe for life" if I hadn’t shown up. I laughed when he said that because he wasn’t lying. He shared stories of his life before me, and I couldn’t help but think, Yeah, sweetheart, God put me here for a reason. You needed to sit the fuck down.
Loving each other gave us both something we needed. I can’t speak for him, but for me, his love was healing. When I started falling for him, I was terrified. My mind played out all the worst-case scenarios of betrayal and heartbreak. At the time, I didn’t know how to differentiate between intuition and paranoia. Instead of letting my fears bleed into our relationship, I turned to my journal. Writing became my refuge, a way to untangle my thoughts and see the truth. I realized those fears were nothing but echoes of old wounds—all the times I wasn’t chosen, when I felt used, overlooked, not reciprocated, and left behind.
With him, it was different. I felt seen, accepted, and safe. And safety wasn’t something I felt easily, especially with men. I could want someone and still not feel safe, but with him, it was natural. It was the kind of safety that made me comfortable enough to be foolish—to make choices that, looking back, could have been disastrous with anyone else. But with him, I felt a freedom that came from knowing I could be vulnerable without fear of judgment.
Our relationship was more than just love; it was a spiritual connection. On the surface, we didn’t have much in common. We weren’t the couple lost in endless conversations. We wanted different things in life, and it became clear that for us to work, one of us would have to reshape ourselves to fit into the other’s world. For me, that felt unnatural, but I was willing to try.
Our love was pure, raw, and unstructured. It didn’t come with expectations or demands—it just existed. It wasn't about fitting into each other’s plans or aligning our futures perfectly. It was about the present, about what we gave to each other in those moments. And for a while, that was enough.
But Love Wasn’t Enough
As I matured, I began to realize that I needed stability. I needed more than just love—I needed intention and purpose. Our relationship wasn’t built on that foundation. As a young woman in my 20s, I couldn’t ignore that I was stepping into a different phase of my life, one where love alone wouldn’t be enough.
One thing led to another, and I became the original antagonist. I was navigating my internal storm, and in the process, I ended up hurting him—something I genuinely regret. I wish I could have addressed it more intentionally and respectfully. But maybe that pain was what we needed. It was the push that led us to the conclusion we couldn’t reach on our own.
Finally, we were free to find ourselves individually. But it wasn’t easy. There’s a special kind of grief in breaking your own heart. I had to accept that I was capable of causing pain, even if it wasn’t intentional. And even after the breakup, we stayed in each other’s lives. He didn’t hold back in making sure I felt what he felt. It didn’t work, but it did leave a bad taste in my mouth. I allowed it because I knew I was the architect of his heartbreak as well as mine.
I vented to my friends—not to make him the villain, but to release my frustration. I regret that now, knowing how it painted an incomplete picture of our relationship. When you only share the hard parts, it’s easy for others to see someone through a narrow lens, missing the love, growth, and genuine care that were also present.
Our love, while imperfect, was the purest and rawest I’ve ever known. It wasn’t about meeting expectations—it was about truly seeing and caring for each other. Reflecting on it now, I see how focusing only on the hurt diminished the truth of our experience. It brings me peace knowing he found that peace too—because through time, we both healed, honored what we meant to each other, and peacefully moved on.
A Thread Still Unbroken
Recently, we crossed paths again. We’re cordial, and I have no intention of disrupting his life, but seeing him stirred up a quiet storm within me. Memories I thought I had neatly packed away resurfaced, and I found myself sifting through them, trying to understand what they mean to me now.
After we broke up, we gave each other space but stayed on good terms. I focused on my own growth, maturing in ways I couldn’t have imagined while we were together. He’s grown in his own way too. While I know it’s not my place to judge his choices, I can’t help but have an opinion.
From where I stand, his path seems toxic—his actions, words, and choices reflect values that clash with my own. It’s almost like he’s become the opposite of the version of himself I knew. And while I respect that he’s on his own journey, I can’t deny the conflict it stirs within me.
It’s a strange mix of emotions. It’s not that I don’t care—I do—but there’s a distance now. It’s as if the person I once knew has been replaced by someone unrecognizable. It’s like looking at an old photograph—you remember the moment, but the details have faded, the edges worn down by time.
And yet, when our eyes met, something familiar surfaced beneath it all. He was different on the outside—we both were—but I still saw him. It was as if a part of that mystery I fell in love with all those years ago still lingered. Our connection had always been more spiritual than physical, rooted in something intangible. Even now, through all the changes and distance, that thread remained, thin but unbroken.
It brought me back to that first feeling—the sense of falling for a stranger, someone I never fully understood but always felt. He was still a mystery, only now the mystery felt different. Not something to unravel, but something to simply acknowledge and let be. Maybe that’s the nature of certain connections—they aren’t meant to be fully understood, just experienced.
Part of me wonders if I ever truly knew him or if I only saw the version of him I wanted to see. Maybe we were both holding on to fragments of each other, pieces that no longer fit who we've become. And that’s okay. Not every connection is meant to withstand the weight of time. Some are just meant to teach us, to shape us, and then gently let go.
A Love to Honor
Now, I’m in a place where I can hold space for both the love and the lessons. I can cherish what we had without needing to cling to it. I can acknowledge that some connections, while not meant to last forever, still shape us in ways that linger. He was a chapter in my story, and I was a chapter in his. And while our story together may have ended, the impact of those pages still echoes within me.
Our paths no longer intersect. We shared love, but we also shared mistakes. We hurt each other, fell short of expectations, and sometimes broke each other’s trust—not out of malice, but out of our own human imperfections. We were both trying to love each other the best way we knew how, even when our best wasn’t enough.
We weren’t perfect, but our love was real. We showed up when it mattered, held space for each other’s growth, and cared deeply. While our complexities ultimately made it impossible to build a future together, our love was genuine.
I’ve often said that if it were just the two of us, isolated from the world’s responsibilities and expectations, he would be the person I’d find solace in. But in the reality we both inhabit, love simply wasn’t enough. It couldn’t bridge the fundamental differences between us or create a sustainable future.
From this moment forward, I choose to honor the positive memories. The love we shared, while imperfect, was the purest and rawest expression of love I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t about meeting expectations or following a script—it was about truly seeing and caring for each other in the most genuine way. That love deserves to be acknowledged, not overshadowed by the hurt or the end. It was real, and it mattered. And that, in itself, is enough.
