Dear beloved readers,

I had a great week! As summer break comes to it’s much not expected end, I can only dread a little the semester ahead me. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I am studying, but it would be a bit of an exaggeration to say I am beyond my mind excited. But while we are not quite there yet, I am about to have what I am sure will be one of the best weeks of my life. 

And in celebration of Big staying over with me for a whole entire week, I have a story to tell you guys. And it’s a story about love. 

Three words, eight letters. That’s what Blair and Chuck relentlessly told each other in their vicious attempt not to be the first declaring such powerful words. Coming clean with such powerful feeling. I remember watching this growing up and thinking it was really romantic, in fact, I will go as far and say I’ve romanticized that entire relationship and deemed it as goals even though, now a little older, I am aware it really wasn’t that healthy or great. Anyways…

What is about that phrase that means so much? I’ve always wanted to be loved and loved intensely. I wanted to be loved with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. And then I met Big and I was, but the thing is, we never said it. 

I felt so love every single day, and I mean it. I woke up every morning, with or without him near, and I felt like the most loved creature on this planet, no, this galaxy. And yet, every single time we were together, I felt a lump in my throat forming, with those three words trying to come out. And I couldn’t bring myself to utter them. If you are guessing that much like Chuck and Blair didn’t want to be the first to admit, as if saying those words would equal to being defeated, losing a bet, losing a game. And that’s not what love is all about. 

But I still feared that if I were to say it first, there was a chance he wouldn’t say it back, which would lead me to a not so subtle death.

So I waited every time for him to say it first. I kept hoping that in some miraculous moment it would come to him and that same urge that was growing inside me, would make him burst and admit it. The funny part is, I knew he loved me. I knew it with every living fiber of my body. I knew it like I never was so sure of anything else in my life before. So why did I need to hear these words? Would they make this notion more clear? How much more clear could it even be? It was basically stamped in both of our foreheads, and in every gesture, big or small, it was shown. And everyone knows that actions are louder than words, so why did I feel deaf to what I was receiving but wasn’t at all hearing? 

I tried to convince myself we didn’t need to say those words. These words were for insecure, toxic couples. We didn’t need to say our love, we knew our love. But it felt like a missing limb in the relationship, hauntingly hovering on top of our heads and, at least to me, it felt like it would change something if we were to say it. Even though I really didn’t think there was a lot of room for improvement at all, I mean how much better could it possibly get? 

And yet one day, even denying my need to say it, the lump grew unswallowble in my throat. As we laid in bed on a Sunday afternoon, and he tried to talk to me about whatever video we were watching, my mind was oceans away, lost deeply in insecurities and, shockingly feeling unlovable – which simply wasn’t true. And then I burst into tears, like I sometimes do against my own will, and Big wasted no time bringing my body to sit directly on his lap, he kept asking me what was wrong but I didn’t want to say it. To say it what was wrong was to be the first to admit it and I didn’t want to have to say it. 

Well I had to. My boyfriend would never let me cry without reason and he would never let it go either. So I said it, I asked why we never said it and I guess it really fucking was bothering me by the intensity in which I was crying. We talked it out, and Big well, Big said simply he thought I knew already, and I told him I did but it would be really good to hear it too. We looked at each other, and we put the Jackson Five advice to good use, counted one, two, three, and we both said it together. 

I cackled afterwards, and it was so contagious neither of us could stop. The funniest part about this moment is that, after hearing it and saying it, I felt less pressured sure, but I also never find myself needing it anymore. We love each other, and we know it. My mistake was ever thinking this was some sort of teen drama bullshit, when it was purely and simply, love. 

And now, when we do say it, I know it’s not worth more than every other little thing we did before to let the other know. It’s nice, sure, but our love radiates through every single touch, kiss, action, reaction – and even though shouting about it is really good, I should’ve known I never needed it to know what my heart already knew to be true, but my mind needed a few extra syllables to be at peace.

Until next week beloved readers, and make sure to enjoy the last bits of Summer. Stay safe, and out of trouble, but if you don’t – oh my god, tell me all about it. 

– Your Girl On The Go