They Say for Every Pot, There’s a Lid…
“Why does it feel like you’re getting further away from me?”
I looked down at my phone and smiled.
Now, why would this man say that?
I had just left my friend’s house, and Steven was watching my location. He was at the flea market waiting for me, and I was still about an hour and a half away.
An hour and a half.
And somehow, this man had me smiling at my phone like I was sixteen years old.
I don’t even remember what I said back. Probably something smart, because God forbid I let a man know just how excited I was to see him.
But I remember the butterflies.
I remember looking at the time, looking at the GPS, and wishing I could make the drive go a little faster.
It wasn’t our first conversation, but it was the first time we were going to spend time together in person. And something about it felt different.
I couldn’t explain it.
I didn’t know what Steven and I would become. I didn’t know what he would mean to me or how much of my heart I would eventually give him.
I just knew I wanted to get there.
And I wanted to get there badly.
Funny how you can remember something so small years later.
Not what you were wearing. Not every word that was said. Not even everything you did that day.
Just the feeling.
The excitement of knowing somebody was waiting for you.
The butterflies from a simple message.
And the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this one would be different.
I think about that day more than I probably should.
Especially now.
Because when I think about Steven, I don’t immediately think about the disappointment or the things that eventually pushed me to walk away.
I think about the man waiting for me at the flea market.
The one watching my little location move across his phone, wondering why I wasn’t getting closer fast enough.
And I think about how happy I was.
God, I was happy.
If somebody asked me when I knew I loved Steven, they might expect me to say it was when he started asking about rings.
Or when he told me he thought he might be falling in love with me.
But it wasn’t either of those moments.
It was in a Chinese food store.
Yes. A Chinese food store.
Not some expensive restaurant with white tablecloths and somebody coming around to refill our water every five minutes.
Not a vacation.
Not a candlelit dinner.
A regular Chinese food store, waiting for our order.
And somehow, that became one of the most romantic moments of my life.
Steven was leaning against the wall, and I was standing between his arms.
I don’t remember what we were talking about. Probably something that had absolutely nothing to do with love or marriage or the future.
That’s what made it so special.
Nothing was happening.
And everything was happening.
I was standing there wrapped in his arms, comfortable, happy, not thinking about anything outside of that moment.
He leaned down and kissed me.
And I swear, something in me just knew.
I don’t know how else to explain it.
I had spent so much of my life experiencing things I never wanted to experience again. Loving people who weren’t good for me. Trying to make sense of heartbreak. Learning lessons I hadn’t asked God to teach me in the first place.
And standing there with Steven, I remember feeling like maybe it had all led me somewhere.
Like maybe every disappointment, every failed relationship, every prayer I’d whispered when nobody was listening had brought me to this man.
This man.
In a Chinese food store.
Lord, you really do have a sense of humor.
But I felt safe.
I felt loved.
And for a moment, I felt like everything I had been through before him was worth it.
He asked me my ring size.
I shrugged it off at first.
I don’t know if I was trying to play it cool or if the question caught me off guard.
Maybe a little of both.
But then I looked at him, kissed him, and said, “Seven.”
Seven.
Such a simple answer to a question that meant so much more to me than I think he realized.
Because in that moment, I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anybody else.
I wasn’t expecting him to pull a ring out of his pocket. I wasn’t planning a wedding in my head or mentally picking out bridesmaid dresses.
Okay, maybe a little bit of the future crossed my mind.
But it wasn’t about getting married tomorrow.
It was about knowing that if I ever did get married, I wanted it to be to him.
I wanted the ordinary days.
The mornings when neither of us felt like getting out of bed.
The grocery store runs.
The random arguments about what we were going to eat.
The quiet evenings when we didn’t have anything exciting planned but being together was enough.
I wanted to know what it felt like to build a life with Steven.
And standing there in that little Chinese food store, I believed we could.
I held on to that moment for almost two years.
Maybe that’s where I messed up.
I think one of the hardest things about loving somebody is realizing that the person you fell in love with and the relationship you’re actually experiencing aren’t always the same thing.
And before anybody starts, no, I’m not saying Steven was pretending to be somebody he wasn’t.
I don’t believe that.
I believe the man who held me in that Chinese food store was real.
I believe the way he looked at me was real.
I believe the tenderness was real.
And I believe the love was real, too.
But I think I held on so tightly to how he made me feel in those moments that I kept hoping we would find our way back to them.
Because somewhere along the way, things started feeling different.
We didn’t see each other the way I wanted us to.
There was always something.
Work.
Responsibilities.
Distance.
Life.
And I understood.
God knows I understood.
I was a busy woman myself. Between work, responsibilities, and everything else I had going on, I knew what it meant to be exhausted.
I knew what it meant to want to come home, take your clothes off, and not have to answer another question for the rest of the night.
So I tried to be understanding.
If he was tired, I understood.
If he had things to do, I understood.
If we couldn’t see each other, I understood.
But after a while, I started wondering when understanding became something I was doing more for him than for myself.
Because I missed him.
Not the cute little “aww, I miss my man” kind of missing somebody.
I mean really missing him.
Wanting to see his face. Wanting to hear his laugh in person. Wanting to lay beside him and do absolutely nothing.
And sometimes I felt like I was the only one trying to figure out how to make those moments happen.
That hurt.
Especially because I remembered how excited he was to see me in the beginning.
I remembered the flea market.
I remembered him watching my location.
I remembered feeling wanted.
And I couldn’t help wondering what had changed.
I didn’t need Steven to spend every waking moment with me.
I had a life.
A full one.
But damn, I wanted to feel like there was room for me in his.
I wanted dates.
I wanted him to make plans.
I wanted him to say he missed me and actually do something about it.
I wanted to be able to see him without feeling like we needed to coordinate schedules three weeks in advance.
And maybe that sounds simple.
But sometimes the simplest things become the hardest to ask for when you’re afraid the person you love is going to hear them as complaints.
There were moments when I questioned where I stood with Steven.
And I’m not talking about the obvious question of whether we were officially together.
Although, Lord knows that was a question all by itself.
I’m talking about those moments when something doesn’t sit right with you, but you don’t know whether to bring it up.
The moments when you notice certain behaviors and start wondering whether you’re overthinking.
There were times when his phone felt like something he wanted to keep to himself.
Times when I wondered if there were other women.
And the truth is, I didn’t always have answers.
I didn’t want to accuse him of things I couldn’t prove.
But I also couldn’t pretend those thoughts didn’t bother me.
What made it worse was that I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
Because what exactly do you say to a man you’ve been loving like a boyfriend when he hasn’t actually made you his girlfriend?
How do you explain that something hurts when technically, according to the title you don’t have, he hasn’t promised you anything?
I hated that.
I hated even having to think that way.
Because emotionally, I was committed.
I wasn’t entertaining a future with somebody else.
I wasn’t trying to figure out what other options were out there.
I wanted Steven.
And maybe that’s why the uncertainty bothered me so much.
I knew what I was giving.
I just wasn’t always sure what I was receiving.
But I stayed.
Not because I didn’t see the things that bothered me.
I saw them.
I just kept believing that what we had was worth figuring out.
And honestly, I still believe some of it was.
I wish Steven understood how much I was willing to bend and change for him.
Not because I didn’t love who he was, but because I did.
I think sometimes he felt like I was asking him to change, and I wish he could’ve seen that I was just trying to figure out how to make things work for both of us.
I was willing to compromise.
To be patient.
To understand things even when they hurt my feelings.
And maybe that’s where I went wrong.
I kept adjusting, making room for him, trying to understand where he was coming from, hoping that somewhere along the way he would meet me halfway.
I never wanted him to feel like he wasn’t enough for me.
God knows I loved that man for who he was.
But I think somewhere between me expressing what I needed and him feeling like I wanted him to change, we kept missing each other.
And that hurt because I wasn’t asking him to become somebody else.
I was trying to build something with the man I already loved.
I just wish he could’ve seen how much I was willing to do for us.
How many times I put my own feelings to the side because I understood his.
How often I convinced myself that I could be okay with things I knew deep down I wanted differently.
And maybe he was bending in ways I didn’t always recognize either.
I can acknowledge that.
But I wish he understood that I wasn’t trying to change him.
I wanted us to grow together.
I wanted us to figure it out together.
And sometimes I wonder if he ever really saw that.
Not just how much I loved him, but how much of myself I was willing to adjust just to keep loving him.
Almost two years.
Sometimes I sit with that number and laugh.
Not because it’s funny.
But because what else am I supposed to do?
Almost two years of talking, spending time together, learning each other, loving each other, and I still couldn’t confidently tell somebody what the hell we were.
Make that make sense.
I wanted to be his girlfriend.
There. I said it.
I wanted the title.
I wanted the commitment.
I wanted to know that when somebody asked Steven if he was single, the answer was no.
And I didn’t think that was asking for too much.
But somehow, we kept finding ourselves in conversations about readiness.
About timing.
About where he was emotionally.
And I listened.
I really did.
I wanted to understand him.
I wanted to respect where he was in life.
But then came the conversation about maybe being ready in another year.
Another year.
I remember trying to sit with that.
Trying to understand what it meant.
Because I wasn’t asking him to marry me tomorrow.
I wasn’t asking him to move in with me.
I wasn’t asking him to give up his independence or become somebody he wasn’t.
I was asking for a relationship.
With a man I had already spent almost two years loving.
And the possibility of waiting another year made something in me feel tired.
Not angry.
Tired.
Because how much longer was I supposed to wait?
And what exactly was I waiting for?
I don’t think Steven was trying to hurt me.
I think he was telling me where he was.
And as much as I didn’t like hearing it, I had to respect that.
But I also had to respect myself.
I was ready.
I had been ready.
And I couldn’t keep treating that like it was something I needed to apologize for.
The truth is, I think I would’ve waited longer if I hadn’t finally admitted how unhappy I was becoming.
That’s what scares me.
Because I know how much I loved him.
I know how much I wanted us to work.
And I know how easily I could’ve convinced myself that another year wasn’t that long.
But another year of what?
Missing him?
Wondering when I would see him?
Trying not to ask for too much?
Hoping the man who once asked me my ring size would eventually ask me to be his girlfriend?
I couldn’t do it anymore.
And that realization broke my heart.
Because I wasn’t ready to stop loving Steven.
I was just tired of waiting for us to become something we weren’t.
Walking away wasn’t some beautiful, empowering moment where I suddenly remembered who I was and never looked back.
I wish.
I wish I could tell you I sent one final message, deleted his number, blocked him on everything, and went on about my life.
But that would be a lie.
I was sad.
I was hurt.
And I still loved that man.
I still do.
There are nights when I want to text Steven and tell him I love him.
Just that.
I love you.
No long paragraph.
No conversation about what went wrong.
No attempt to convince him to come back.
Sometimes it’s just on my heart.
And I don’t know what to do with it.
For almost two years, he was somebody I could give that love to.
Somebody I could reach for.
Somebody I could tell I missed him.
And now I’m trying to learn how to live without doing those things.
It’s strange.
Learning how to stop reaching for somebody who became part of your everyday thoughts.
I muted his messages.
Not because I hate him.
Not because I’m trying to make a point.
But because seeing his name pop up on my phone can still make my heart stop for a second.
And I don’t want that anymore.
I don’t want to feel like my entire mood can change because of one notification.
I don’t want to keep checking my phone to see whether he responded.
I want to feel like I have control over myself again.
But I won’t lie.
Sometimes I still check.
Sometimes I still wonder.
Sometimes I still want to know if he’s thinking about me.
And sometimes I want to tell him I love him, even when I know I probably shouldn’t.
I’m still learning.
That’s the part I wish people understood about walking away.
You can make the right decision and still miss the person.
You can know why something ended and still wish it hadn’t.
You can accept that somebody isn’t for you and still love them.
And sometimes, even when you know you deserve more, you still wish the person you loved could’ve been the one to give it to you.
I think about that girl in the Chinese food store sometimes.
The one standing in Steven’s arms, smiling after he kissed her.
The one who told him her ring size was seven.
The one who genuinely believed that maybe everything she had been through before him had finally led her to something good.
I wish I could tell her how much she was going to love him.
How much she was going to learn about herself.
How many nights she would spend missing somebody she had already decided to walk away from.
But I don’t think I would tell her how it ends.
Because she was happy.
And she deserved that moment.
She deserved to stand there in his arms and believe that maybe, just maybe, she’d found her person.
I don’t regret that.
I don’t regret loving Steven.
I don’t regret the memories.
I don’t regret wanting a future with him.
And I don’t regret telling him seven.
I think what hurts the most is knowing that I would’ve done so much to make us work.
I would’ve figured out the distance.
I would’ve made time.
I would’ve compromised.
I would’ve kept showing up.
But I couldn’t keep doing those things while wondering if we were ever going to want the same future.
And I couldn’t want it for both of us.
I don’t know if Steven remembers that moment in the Chinese food store the way I do.
Maybe to him, it was just a kiss.
Maybe it was something more.
I don’t know.
And I think I’m finally learning that I don’t have to know.
Not every question gets answered.
Not every love story becomes a relationship.
And not every person we love is somebody we’re meant to spend our lives with.
Everyone isn’t for everybody.
I used to hear people say that and think it sounded so simple.
Now I understand how much it can hurt.
Because sometimes you can love someone with everything you have and still not be the person they’re ready to choose.
Sometimes they can love you, too, and still not be able to give you what you’re looking for.
And sometimes nobody has to be the bad person for the relationship to end.
I don’t want Steven to be unhappy.
I don’t want him to spend his life regretting me.
I don’t want him to feel like he owes me a relationship because I loved him.
I genuinely want him to find whatever it is he’s looking for.
Whatever peace, happiness, love, or version of himself he’s still trying to discover.
I hope he finds it.
Even if I’m not the woman standing beside him when he does.
And I won’t pretend that thought doesn’t hurt.
Because I wanted to be that woman.
I wanted to be the one he came home to. The one he built a life with. The one he looked at years from now and thought, I’m glad we figured it out.
But I can’t want that for both of us.
And I can’t keep holding on to someone simply because I know what it felt like to be happy with him.
I think that’s what I’m grieving the most.
Not just Steven.
But the life I imagined with him.
The version of us that existed in my head long after I started realizing it wasn’t happening in real life.
And maybe I’m grieving that girl in the Chinese food store, too.
The girl who stood in his arms and felt like all her prayers had finally been answered.
I wish I could tell her what was coming.
But I don’t think I would.
Because she was happy.
And she deserved to have that moment without knowing how the story would end.
I don’t regret telling him seven.
I don’t regret loving him.
I don’t regret believing that maybe he was different.
I just wish the distance between us had been something we both wanted to close.
Because somewhere along the way, I realized that I was still reaching for him while trying to teach myself how to live without him.
And that’s where I am now.
Still loving him.
Still missing him some nights.
Still learning how to stop reaching for someone I once imagined spending my life with.
I don’t know when I’ll stop wanting to tell him I love him.
Maybe one day I’ll wake up and realize I haven’t thought about him in a while.
Maybe one day I’ll meet someone and those ordinary things I wanted won’t feel so difficult to have.
Maybe one day I’ll look back at this chapter and smile instead of cry.
But I’m not there yet.
Right now, I’m just a woman learning how to let go of a man she still loves.
And somewhere out there is a man I once stood wrapped around in a Chinese food store, a man who knows my ring size, a man I still hope finds everything he’s looking for.
Even if it isn’t me.
I think I’ll always remember that kiss.
And maybe that’s okay.
Because for a moment, I really did believe he was every prayer come true.
And even though our story didn’t become what I hoped it would, that moment was still beautiful.
I can let go of the future I imagined without pretending the past meant nothing.
I can love him from a distance.
I can learn to live without him.
And I can hope that wherever life takes him, he’s happy.
Even while I’m still figuring out how to be happy without us.
And maybe that’s what I’m learning about love. That sometimes acceptance hurts more than holding on, because it means making peace with a reality you never wanted.
I don’t think I’ll ever have anything but genuine love for Steven. Not because everything was perfect or because he never hurt me, but because what I felt for him was real.
And I don’t believe that has to change just because our relationship did.
I can love him without needing him to be mine, or at least I’m learning to.
I can wish him happiness without being the person who gives it to him.
And I can accept that maybe we were never meant to be each other’s forever, even if there was a time when I couldn’t imagine forever without him.
They say for every pot there’s a lid, and maybe we just weren’t each other’s.
That doesn’t make either of us any less deserving of love.
It just means that sometimes two people can love each other and still have to find their way separately.
I wish it hadn’t hurt so much to understand that, but I’m learning that it’s okay.
It’s okay that I loved him.
It’s okay that I still do.
And it’s okay that, this time, loving him means letting us be.
Or maybe I’m lying…
