I’ve come to realise something recently: Love has an expiration date.

Someone told me recently that it has been proven to take around six weeks to get over someone. To get over that feeling of loving them, or thinking that we did. He may have been talking utter bollocks (probably), but it has made me think.

I like to think love is a bit like fresh chicken. Bought at a time when you felt motivated to cook, only to sit in your fridge and gradually stink the whole house out.

When I was with my ex, I was caught up in this feeling that things with her were different. Unfortunately, I seemed to be hoping it would be different this time around, instead of it actually being that way. At one point I felt trapped, like I had gotten stuck in the mud and had nobody to pull me the fu*k out. I didn’t tell my best friend, I didn’t tell anyone.

Instead, silently, I hoped somehow it would sort of fix itself.

I think of dating and getting to know someone a bit like a circle. The outer circle is when you first speak, exchange a few words (or more likely these days, Tinder messages) before you reach the swapping of numbers. From there, you might add them on some form of social media. There, they’re getting closer into the circle. If you’re a Twitter user, your occasional rants and (hilarious) anecdotes are now out there for your new found love to see.

Sure, they’re probably going to see it eventually. A bit like this blog actually. So hi there.

Next comes Facebook, Instagram, even Snapchat. Think of it like someone tip toeing into your house. Gradually they’re closer to your life, with the ability to see what you do and how you do it. Remember that summer of 2012, when you were off your tits in a field somewhere? They’ll find it. After all, 98% of people seem to be dating stalkers.

Back to the chicken.

When we’re wrapped up in a relationship we’ll do anything to convince ourselves that we’re happy. We’ll do anything to make the other person happy, even if it means not being happy ourselves. And then we’ll feel disappointed with ourselves when it all goes tits up.

That post-relationship feeling, to me, is like opening the fridge and realising your chicken has gone to sh*t. You’d bought it, kept it, then left it to one side. A bit like a relationship, a break up and that denial that follows.

That realisation that things maybe weren’t so great. That things weren’t quite so perfect after all.

Hindsight is an incredible thing, right?

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