My last “serious” relationship ended roughly two years and seven months ago, and I’ve been single ever since. In that amount of time, four of my cousins have gotten engaged, two of them have gotten married, and one of them has had a baby. I, on the other hand, moved into my own apartment, got my dream job, and carried on a six-month affair with a guy whom I’d never call my boyfriend, but who would order Ubers to my place on the Upper East Side of Manhattan at 11pm so that I’d make the late-night trek to his apartment in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.
This is one aspect of my life that I can’t control, no matter how much I try to.
I’m attempting to toss my timeline out the window, and realise that I can’t force someone to adhere to the idea of a relationship I’ve idealised in my mind.