I used to think that I was just meant to be alone, that I never would find the right one. Sometimes I would stop to take a look at myself and think that maybe there was something wrong with me. Maybe I was so broken that no one could fix it. I usually take wise decisions in my life. But every time love came around everything changed. I put my heart on a silver plate and got the little pieces that were left from it thrown back at me. I was giving up on love and of all I ever thought love was. And then I met him.

“It is scary”, I told him and shrugged. He laughed at me. “What do you mean?” “Well… what if we fall for each other and then it all goes to hell?” He looked at me and answered quickly: “Yeah, what if that happens? But what if it doesn’t.” I took a deep breath.

This is how it is; you can take several steps back when someone else takes just a little tiny step forward. You can protest and say “Wow, back off! I didn’t come here to give my heart away and slowly dig down needle-sharp nails in it. That has been happening way too many times before”. You can do that. Or you can run up to him and start laughing while you’re kissing him. It is like choosing between always having a gray sky or having sunshine with risk of a few showers. Do you see how easy it was?

“Jamie, you can’t go on like this. You have to start living again”. I knew Lydia was right, but my body didn’t seem to cooperate with my brain. My attempt to get off the couch looked more like a mediocre sit-up. Lydia sighed and started to clean my TV table, which now was filled with piles of dirty dishes and empty pizza boxes. On a normal day I would be disgusted and clean it straight away, but I continued to lie down on my couch. I could hear Lydia swearing in the kitchen. “Just leave it. I’ll take care of it later!” I shouted to her as she rattled the dishes. She stopped and walked up to me with her arms crossed. “You know what? I’m sick of this. I’m sick of trying to cheer you up when you can’t even be bothered lifting your ass off that stupid couch. I’m Lydia, remember? Your best friend just in case you forgot. And it’s February 2012 now, which means you have spent the beginning of this year lying here feeling sorry for yourself. Look, I love you, but this has to stop NOW.” Lydia’s nostrils were vibrating, as they always did when she was mad. I once again tried to get off the couch and this time I ended up sitting down. I knew she had the right to be mad at me; I hadn’t been the easiest person to be around. She sat down beside me, waiting for an apology or just a lame excuse. Even though I wanted to say something, I couldn’t find the right words. Lydia held my hand. “I know you’ve been hurt Jamie, I know that. But you have to move on. There are still plenty of guys out there. For goodness sake, we live in Auckland! And what about your job? They should have fired you a long time ago to be honest. Please Jamie, just start living again.” As her words drifted through my head I felt everything. The aching pain in my heart, the panic over what I was going to do now and the anxiety over how I’d treated my friends. When my cheeks slowly became wet with tears Lydia hugged me tight. “I’m so sorry Lydia… I’m sorry” was the only thing I could say between my sobbing. There were no more words needed that afternoon.

I don’t know how Lydia managed to get me back on my feet again, but after that day everything slowly started to turn to the better. One week later I was back at the café working. My boss was not too happy about my absence the last month, but after a long conversation and a lot of morning shifts on my schedule he was willing to let me stay. I didn’t mind taking the morning shifts after all. I’d always found it interesting to see people walking past on their way to work or stopping to eat their breakfast. Like the old lady that always came to the café at the same time every day, sitting on the same table ordering the same sandwich. She was always on her own but it looked like she enjoyed it. So this day she sat at table six, as usual, reading the newspaper while sipping on her coffee. On my way towards table 7 I looked past the lady and out on the street, and there they were. The darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. One look, one second and then it was over. How can one look be so intense?