When I refer to the love of my life, there is more than a smidgen of irony. Maybe he needs rebranding: the love of my twenties or perhaps the passion of my twenties.
Weekends would be spent fucking and the weekdays we reserved for arguing.
He got under my skin in the best and worse ways possible, even now I think fondly of him but not forgetting our endless and extensive disputes.
Much as we were in love, it was a young and reckless love. We were immature, foolish and naive, with a level of playfulness that could turn all too quickly into destruction. However, there was an undeniable chemistry; sexual, emotional and mental.
We didn't break up because we stopped loving each other, we couldn't work out how to positively channel the emotions that we had for one another. He was jealous and possessive to the point of ridiculous. Something that I haven't tolerated since that relationship.
Although I haven't seen him since we parted years ago, I'm not sure how comfortable I would be meeting up with him again. Especially considering the majority of times we have spoken or messaged over the years, it has ended in phone or IM sex.