I’m on a train to Edinburgh to go and visit my friends for the weekend. Which is lovely. But it’s the hottest day of the year in London, and as the train heads north the sky gets darker and the temperature drops. Brrrrr.
Anyway, I had a mad dash around today trying to sort out my life before getting on the train. All week I have wanted to get to a certain shop on Oxford Street to buy a certain something in the sale. All week I have been desk-bound. Oh. God. It. Has. Been. Such. A. Week.
So today at lunchtime I ran to the tube to jump on the Central Line at Chancery Lane and head along to Soho as quickly as possible.
Chancery Lane tube station always blasts my head with memories. Because every single time I go there I’m reminded of a guy I dated five years ago.
We worked together. I had liked him for ages. He was with someone else for ages. He became single. He found out I liked him. He asked me out. It was all terribly exciting.
Now, at the time I was living in east East London. More east than I do now. He was in West London. And the office we worked at was smack bang in the middle of the two. So we were constantly hopping on and off the Central Line to go and visit each other. Or kissing goodbye at Chancery Lane station, and going our separate ways.
And, oh my, the kissing was fabulous.
I’m 5ft 1. He’s 6ft 3. So we would kiss on the escalators. Then he would kiss me goodbye on the East-bound platform before he headed on to the West-bound one.
It was such a bubbly, tingly, exciting time.
Of course it all ended just three months later. I got back from a holiday and he seemed changed. He didn’t really want to hang out anymore. He ignored me even though we worked in the same office. I was uninvited to meet his parents. That was awkward.
In the end I had to make him go for a drink with me one night and tell him that I thought he was breaking up with me. He agreed (eventually, after making me walk around in the cold for about 45 minutes) and I cried and said humiliating things like, “But you like me! I can be even better! Please!”.
I then stopped eating for the best part of three months and made myself miserable pining over him before realising he was kind of an asshole and his clothes were not nice. He also stank of cigarettes. Always.
So things didn’t end that well. But I only need to set foot in Chancery Lane station to be swept back to those crispy autumn evenings, sitting in pubs drinking beer, getting to know each other, travelling endlessly back and forth on the Central Line, and the epic kissing sessions on those escalators. Mmmm.
The memories are lovely. They make me smile and feel hopeful that I’ll feel that way again about someone.
My memories of my recent ex only make me sad. Of course, we had our own epic kissing sessions, but to remember them, well, it just makes my eyes well with the tears of what might have beens.
But maybe one day I’ll pass that music shop in Hoxton, or the bus stop in Shoreditch, or that cocktail bar, that park, that coffee shop, and smile.
Maybe one day the memories of those epic kisses will stop being epic regrets.
Tags: break up, break up blog, breakup, breakup blog, broken heart, dating, dating in thirties, exboyfriend, kissing, love, memories, relationships
Pizza of Doom 
Recent Comments