October 7th, 2011
255 notes ·

A boy.
                                                                                                                A girl.

He is amazing. Actually, probably one of the kindest, nicest people I know.  A good soul, if you will. Someone who makes me want to be a better person. Rare to find. So, so rare.  

We started our friendship nearly a year ago, and up until Croatia, it was just that, a friendship. Between a girl and a boy, who simply seemed to have a lot in common.  He watched me fall for another guy, then helped me get over him when I got hurt, he was there for me whenever I needed him, and always a comfort to me on down days when I needed a friend to talk to. I heard about a girl hurting him, and watched him set goals and then kick, them, out, the, door. Friends. That was us. And although (I’ll be the first to admit it), I’ve been quite sketchy to him over the last year (xo), he was always there when I needed him, there to talk me off a cliff, or into going for a run when I really didn’t want to.

And over last few months of planning Croatia, and anticipation for the trip, we remained good friends. Because, well, that’s all the trip was going to be. A boy. A girl. A much needed relaxing, beach vacation after kicking the Berlin marathon’s ass. He swears he didn’t think anything more would happen (although, I give him the serious side-eye on this one), and yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be a grown up here, and confess I had seriously hoped something would.

And my good friends, that it did. (lucky me!)

Croatia was like living in a movie to me.  If anything, the movie would be annoyingly perfect to watch.  Not a cloud was seen in 8 days, crystal blue water everywhere one looked, contrasted by giant mountains above, with ancient, Roman palaces and castles, complete with secret alleyways to be made out in.  See? Perfect.

He kissed me the first night. 

Despite batting my eyelashes, and giving him every kiss-me-now-(!) sign I knew, I was still taken aback. But? But it was good. So, so good. So good, I pushed him onto his back and gave him my I-like-you-a-lot kiss (only special boys get this).

We spent the next 12 days in a romantic, vacation type movie, but (oh-so-sadly) always knowing it would come to an end.  The stolen kisses, the hand holding, the private beaches, the flirting, the pushing the other person against ancient wall and kissing them, the lying in bed until noon, it all had an expiry date. And it was soon. So soon.

Too soon.

I was leaving for the main part of my trip the following Thursday and from the start, had never intended to have a boyfriend while traveling, or, for that matter, when I got to London. I wanted to be single. I need to be single.  This trip is about me. Not boys. Or kisses. Or love. He knew all this, of course, right from the start, and I knew he didn’t want a girlfriend. He’s recently out of a five year relationship, and has had one hell of a year all about him.  5 marathons and a new outlook later, the long term timing was off for us, but for 12 perfect days it was on.

So, so on.

And so it was settled then. Croatia was what it was.  A moment out of both our lives to go from him, and her, to us. All the time knowing, in the back of our minds, it would come to an end. And soon.

So we did what we set out to do, and lived in each and every moment we were given. And? sigh, you guys, I fear there is no way to express in words the perfection of the trip; the private beaches, little Croatian apartments, windows down, hands on thighs, and small glances that told each other the world. We could have been written into a scene from a movie.  But a scene, that’s all it was. A moment in time with each other. 

And as I kissed the boy goodbye last night, tears in my eyes, we said let it be, because for now, that’s all we’ve got. 

I can’t thank him enough for it either.  And I’m sure some readers will slightly cringe with what I’m about to say, but it was through his kind words, his touch, his kisses, that pushed me in the perfect place for this trip.  Before him, before Croatia, I didn’t believe in myself, didn’t have faith in myself, was unsure of everything and everyone around me.  He made me sure.  He made me see I was beautiful; curves, flaws, hips, the parts that jiggle —> all, of, me. He made me feel sexy.  No makeup. Hair fuzzy. Glasses on. I was sexy.  On a beach, in a bikini, when I would ask him to look the other way so I could “run into the water without him seeing,” he’d refuse because he wanted to watch me.  He didn’t see the flaws that I saw, the things (little and big) I so desperately wanted to change, instead, when he saw doubt in my eyes, he’d kiss my forward and whisper, “you’re perfect,” but the truth is, he was.

And now, as I type this, from Kathmandu, Nepal, with all my heart am so thankful for the last to weeks I shared with him. I learned so much about myself, as well as a remarkable man, who I am certain is destined for great things.  We’ll go our separate ways, see where life takes us, with the uttermost respect and kind thoughts towards each other, and perhaps (fingers and toes crossed!) our paths will mingle again, but no matter what, and until then, we’ll always have Croatia. 

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  1. lesstolove said: how sweet… i sobbed. i hope your paths cross again. <#
  2. mustbegoodtoya reblogged this from femmerun
  3. femmerun reblogged this from kissthemoongoodnight
  4. wxulikeit said: Let me repeat the sentiment - this IS the most romantic thing I’ve read on tumblr and the most admirable way to go about a relationship, an experience that you both knew couldn’t last.
Welcome! I'm Liz, the girl relieved the Internet has 0 calories. South African by birth; Canadian on paper. A marathoner. CrossFitter. Paleo (somewhat) eater. Traveler. Cheese lover. And I think you're great!

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