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In Love, Out of Love

A Sad Love Story

By Steven RicePublished 2 years ago 7 min read
In Love, Out of Love
Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash


It was my best friend’s birthday party where I first met you. She rented a beach out and the chilly August breeze led me to seek shelter inside. That was when I found you. Your baby blue eyes twinkled as you too were seeking warmth.

We made small talk about the weather and I found out you are a friend of a friend who is a co-worker of the birthday girl. Your smile was the cutest thing on the planet. Then came the questioning in my mind. “Is he…gay?”. I wanted to get to know you more but needed to know if it would be a friendship or more.

The next day at brunch, you sat next to me. We dished about who was still hungover and put together theories on who was the culprit who vomited into the pool. I still would bet on the birthday girl. You were polite and even let me try your home fries. However, that was it. We went our separate ways and I could not help but think I screwed something up. I thought that was the last I would see or hear from you. Then, later that night, you followed me on Instagram.

I tried to keep my cool. I waited a solid twenty minutes before I followed you back. I told myself to not message you first, I did not want to seem obsessed with you. I did scroll back to your first post though. From 2011, it was a selfie on you starting your 2nd semester of college. I must say you aged very well. The next thing I knew, there was a message notification from you. “Hey, how’s it going?”.


I have always heard you can fall for someone quickly and very deeply. This was not my past journey. I have always been so careful to take my time and vet guys out. My fear of ending up like Aunt Connie with 4 divorces under her belt before thirty was real. Yet, you shifted that in me. Between late-night talks and how you always hugged me tightly, I was falling hard and fast. My mind/body felt like it would not survive without your kisses. I felt so close and connected to you.

We took a hiking trip to the mountains. The lunch you packed was arranged so perfectly that I felt as if we were in a rom-com. That day was beautiful and all thanks to you. You loved how I cooked for you. I loved cooking for you.


You loved the spooky season as much as I do! You helped me decorate my place and we got into a pumpkin gut food fit while carving. The shower together afterward was what every gay man dreams of.

We could not decide on costumes for a Halloween party. You were not into the idea of a couples costume and I so badly wanted it. Batman and Robin? Thing 1 and Thing 2? None of my ideas struck a chord with you. So, I stormed out of your apartment. You did not follow.

Later that night you showed up at my place with Batman and Robin costumes in hand. You apologize and even let me be Batman. Such a superhero move on your part. We were a hit at the party.


I had a really bad day at work. From patients vomiting on me to my director telling us that the nursing staff had to cut back on hours, it was an awful day. You came over to cook for me. Then you wanted to cuddle up for a movie. I pushed you away. After ninety minutes of silence, you left.

Looking back, I should not have done that. You cooked an amazing meal, all while listening to me rant about work. Then you cleaned while I took a hot bath (that you drew for me). I guess I wanted to be alone after I vented. Still, I should not have lashed out at you.

For Thanksgiving, you charmed my family and put my green bean casserole to shame. I was proud to have you by my side. At the same time, I hated that your own family had nothing to do with you. We napped the next day away and it was perfect.


We took a trip to Savannah and there you told me you loved me. I wanted to scream it back at you, but instead, I calmly replied, “I love you, too”. On the drive home, I felt so giddy, so full of love and life. Secretly, I kept praying I would not screw this up.

That night at dinner, your phone kept going off. At first, I did not think anything of it, but with every buzz, my suspension grew stronger. I finally asked what was going on. You laughed me off and assured me it was nothing, just a friend. How could I believe that? My ex had several “friends” that he would have naked sleepovers with. As you looked down at your phone for what seemed like the millionth time, I leaped from the table and left you there sitting alone.

Furthermore, I drove away without you. I ignored all your calls and texts until I was safe at home. After an hour you showed up, madder than I had ever seen you. We exploded like two fireworks in the sky. You screamed out, “he is just a friend from college! Samuel, you are being crazy!”. Crazy?! Hearing you call me made my blood boil and anger pushed out through my pores. Yes, I tossed the glass across the room, but be thankful I did not aim it at you. You asked why I could not trust you and I had no answer.

Weeks went by and things were normal again. It was the day after Christmas and you wanted some time alone. I was confused. You shared with me that seeing me with my family makes you miss your own. I left you alone. I could not fathom the heartache you must have. I went out for lunch and that is when I saw him. My ex, was in line for his order when he noticed me. It had been two years, what hard could lunch together do?


The new year showered in like an afternoon Florida rain. We kissed at midnight and watched the ball drop. I think we were both ready for a full year together. Then we ran into my ex. I introduced you both and you felt uneasy. We chatted a bit then said our goodbyes. He left with, “Jake, it was so nice to meet you and good to see you again Sam. Let’s have lunch again soon”.

The questions surrounding our lunch were shot at me at rapid speed. You wonder why I did not tell you and clearly, it is because you were the one acting crazy now. So I brought up the mystery man you were texting. Again, you claim he is a friend, then ask me why I can never let things go. We missed the movie that day.

We did not speak for about three days. Or 63 hours and 12 minutes, but who’s counting? You then reached out with a simple text, asking if we could talk. Soon enough we were back on good terms and cuddled up on the couch.


A few weeks passed and there was a shift between us. We spent less time apart and when we were together, we did not have much to speak on. I met up with my ex again, in secret. He gets me. I question why I turn to him and not you? That night, you come over. We barely say anything over dinner. You ask, “are you happy?”.

By Valentine's Day, we are over. After hours of tears and talking, we ended things. We both agree we love each other, but something is not clicking. I imagine you might be spending this day with the mystery man with whom you text so much. Yet, you post on your Instagram story that you are staying in, alone. I do the same. I think this is what I need. Above all, time alone will be the best for me.


Besides social media and text here and there, we do not have much communication in the months leading up to the party. I see you across the patio, baby blues and all. We hug and for some reason, I feel nothing. We talk for a bit and then go our separate ways. At one point in time, I felt as if I had to have you to breathe in life. Now, you are someone who I nod at in passing.

This is strange right? Love is strange. I do hope the best for you and I hope you will do the same for me. We both have things to work on and that is okay. After I saw you, I spent the rest of the night with the birthday girl. Now that is love, I could never fall out of.


I hope you enjoyed this tragic love story. It would mean so much if you subscribe to my Vocal Media profile. You can also follow my journey on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. You can find me on Clubhouse with the username @sirstevenrice. AND check out my podcasts and blog on my website. Again, thank you so much, stay safe!


About the Creator

Steven Rice

Growing up I had many visions of what I wanted to be when I grew up. At times I was relentless on becoming a Power Ranger or a writer. After thirty years, the path that seems most obtainable is becoming a writer.

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