Whenever I see something turtle-related,

I immediately think of you.

Someone I never met,
who, in one Instagram DM, destroyed my idea of love and my trust in people by consequently ending my relationship.

“I’m in a world of pain… and I just need to know.
How did you make him fall for you?”
You DMed me.

I remember the first time I saw a turtle appear on his screen.
We were only a few weeks in, and you had left Sydney for your visa-related farm work.
You were this French friend from back home, he mentioned rarely.

After your message, I clicked on your Instagram profile and saw turtles swimming across your page — one even making its way onto your arm.

I didn’t know then that that animal would still find me, even a year later…

                                                                       

    ———-

So, on a typical Tuesday night, I’m sitting in my kitchen, halfway across the world, as someone wonderful presses a kiss onto my cheek.

“Dinner?” he asks me, resting his head on my shoulder — but before I can answer, my eyes are drawn to a colourful pop-up, scurrying from one side of my screen to the other.

The turtle-shaped ad dares me to catch it. But instead, all I can feel is that same familiar tug in my chest- like stray threads still tying me to you, and you to him.

Which brings me back to your original question — one I never answered.
Something I’ve turned over in my mind many nights.

“How did you make him fall in love with you?”

Well, little turtle, I’ll tell you.

After all, we shared the same man, the same waiting room — just different beds.

A lot of my relationship with him felt like that:
waiting.
Waiting for a text back, for him to see me for 1–2 days a week when he wasn’t working or hanging out with his brother.
Excuse after excuse, I bent for his convenience because I thought that was love. Being easy-going, kind.

I’m guessing, as his best friend, you did much of the same.

“I feel like you enjoy breaking your own heart.”

I remember after he said it, all of me went cold.
I had just finished cooking us dinner and popped on some soft indie hits.
The comment came out of nowhere…

I didn’t realise that this was one of many unfiltered thoughts he’d say without need.

“Just because I feel horny doesn’t mean I want to have sex with you.”

“Why does your body look like that? Other girls don’t.”

“When you spoke about us ending, I thought about hurting myself.”

“I feel like you talk about yourself too much.”

“You’re such a child. Grow up.”

I didn’t realise it at the time, but those comments would stick in my mind.
And whenever I looked at my body or heard certain phrases, I would hear his voice first, picking me apart.

When it happens, my partner now asks me where I’ve vanished to, why he can’t touch me.
And I can’t tell him, because I’m not myself.
Everything feels quiet — yet unbearably heavy.

I can’t connect to my body anymore; it no longer feels like it belongs to me.
The numbness has chased away my once-chatty inner dialogue, and I can’t seem to say anything at all.

I’m so lost in myself, all thoughts seem to escape my body, carried away by the endless tears peeling down my cheeks.

Maybe, little turtle, a better question would’ve been:
“Why did we need him to love us?”

I remember the first time I said it… It was the first time I’d said it to anyone in six years.

He’d dangled the word in front of me for months, so when I finally said it, his response hurt that much more.

“I don’t know if I could love someone who doesn’t speak my language… and I don’t think my brother would like you,”
he muttered, drifting off to sleep.

                                                                   ——

I may have worn the “chosen” label you so desired, but to answer your original question:
I don’t think he ever loved me. 

He only told me twice, and both times I prompted him. Once he said it in a childish voice, and the other time, he wrote on my chest before denying it. 

                                                                   ———

With fresh eyes, I can now see the relationship for what it was — one of many turbulent connections I naively signed up for in my 20s, all ending the same way.

Such is the toxic dance between anxious (often female) and avoidant (often male) attachment styles.

(I gendered the attachment styles based on research into social conditioning: women being taught to be emotionally in-touch, while men are taught the opposite.)

For those unfamiliar, attachment styles may explain why your or your friends’ love lives feel like a storm.

When they begin, sparks fly. Intimacy soars.
But months later, things shift.

To cope with the change, one partner pulls away (avoidant), while the other clings closer (anxious).
Like magnets, what once attracted now repels.

An easy sign you’re in a toxic attachment style is when you often feel confused.

Another could be you keep breaking up and getting back together, or you can’t bear being alone.

Even though I didn’t know you well, turtle, I do know your friendship with him mirrored that same dynamic.

Learning about attachment styles and how to choose differently changed everything for me, and I hope it does for you, too.

                                                                              ——

Ironically, if you hadn’t sent that message, I wouldn’t have found someone so wonderful, at exactly the right time.

And for that, I thank you.

He’s warm in ways I didn’t know men could be.
And patient, as I slowly unravel.
He wants to spend all his spare time with me and introduced me to his family on our fourth date.

I didn’t know it could be this easy — to be loved by the right person.
To never feel lonely while lying next to someone.

See, I was a turtle too before your message.

And you helped me learn — the hard way — that in toxic attachments, no matter how much you give, it will never be enough to change them.

Which leads me back to you.

Despite what I said before, if we had crossed paths, I would have apologised. 

We were both betrayed by the person we loved and I should have been more compassionate.

I hope Australia brings you sunny beach days, sunflowers, and good friends who fill you with warmth.

And just so you know —
I don’t think of him anymore when I think of love.

I think of you and me.

🧡