prologue

At 24, I have the boyfriend of my dreams; my high school sweetheart and the man I would one day marry. I never knew love could be like this… this perfect, this amazing, this certain. I’m being treated like a princess, and I treat him like my prince. He is the son my father never had, the brother my sister always wanted and the young man my mum is proud to show off to her girlfriends. More importantly, he is all I have ever dreamed of. He is tall, handsome, successful, he makes me feel loved, special and beautiful. He is my best friend. I can’t believe it took nine years for me to get my act together with the young boy I met aged 15 in 6th form geography.

At 25, I have been left by said boyfriend – who we’ll call the Train Driver – for the Australian outback – my PR and Experiential career doesn’t align with the civil engineering life in the red dust. Not only has my fragile, young heart been shattered, so have my hopes and my dreams. Because true love never dies, I honestly believe that the Tasman Sea is only creating a temporary moat around the fairytale castle we will one day move back in to – we are meant to be, so of course my prince charming will find his way back to me – white horse and all. My mind, my heart and my soul can’t and won’t even begin to entertain the idea that he is not the one for me so all attempts by my wonderful girlfriends to get back out there, move on and meet someone new seem absolutely ludicrous. Of course there is no one else out there for me, I have met the one, we’re just going through the plot twist in our very own love story.

At 26, we are back together. We’re hanging on by a thread after two failed attempts at long distance love, but we’re together and it’s the only thread I need to complete the haberdashery we’ve both been wanting and subliminally planning for the last 11 years. We’re in it for the long haul this time, we’re talking children, about how silly we were to imagine we could possibly be apart, the 4-wheel drive I will drive, the house we’ll live in and where we’ll summer.
Two months later the stitches have unravelled and we have broken up – again. This time I know that the thread is too weak, it can’t be fixed – not even by the best sewer who so desperately wants to stitch our torn relationship back up along with my the pieces of my broken heart.
Luckily I have a new job in an amazing, friendly and very social PR and advertising agency to keep me occupied. Not a bad place to be when you’re 26, single and recently had your heart torn to shreds.

10 days post Train Driver, with bright red, puffy eyes and a tear stained face I send a text to my new friend from work (we’ll call her giraffe) and apologise, kindly telling her that I can’t meet her for a drink this afternoon as the withdrawal of my recently lost relationship is too much.
I don’t ever want to leave the house again, let alone venture out in to the real world, with a new friend, who doesn’t know me, doesn’t know him and doesn’t know the story.

Looking back, this is a day I will never forget regardless of what happens from here on out. March 17th 2013 – my Sliding Doors day.

At 28, i’m single and i’ve been living in London for three months. I love my life, but it couldn’t be more different to what i’d thought it would be at 24.

distanced hearts club ♥

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