As we walked, you disclosed that your open relationship allowed for more than just sex with multiple partners; you were each free to date other people too. I suddenly realised I was on a date – and I liked it. I liked wandering around the park, hot chocolates in hand, passing strangers who had no idea that we had been naked in bed together just twenty minutes earlier despite barely knowing each other. I liked learning how much we had in common; bonding over our experiences working as interns in the arts. I liked learning what we disagreed on; my fear of falling victim to audience participation and your love of inflicting it upon others as a performer. I liked you, from what I knew so far.

And then it dawned on me: we have met before! The words came out of my mouth as soon as the thought entered my head. You had served me in a club a few months previous. I recalled remarking to my friend about the extremely cute, definitely queer bartender. That’s why you felt so familiar – because you were.

You seemed charmed by this revelation but didn’t remember our first encounter. I was glad I remembered our meet-cute, even if you didn’t. It felt serendipitous. The fact that we had met before made me want to see you again even more. Luckily, the feeling was mutual.

We agreed to see each other again the next time I was back home. And we did. And the next time. And the time after that.

You became like a vacation boyfriend. A charming guy I’d share romantic dates (and great sex) with whenever I was back home. Between visits, we would go about our own lives, barely staying in contact via message. It felt different from other dating situations I’d had in the past but not in a bad way. In a good, fun, post-modern romantic-comedy kind of way.

The fact that you had a partner was never the problem. I always enjoyed discussing your partner. I felt like I knew them and I wish that I had met them. The openness of both your and our relationship was my favourite part.

How open and honest we were in the beginning was what made it work. And then we weren’t and it didn’t.

Did you notice that we ended things just a few metres from where they began? That couch where we stripped each other for the first time is so close to the dining room table we sat at to have a much less enjoyable final meal. So much changed between our clean beginning and our messy end. 

You said: I just want us to be platonic friends. I would have been relieved if I wasn’t quite so drunk. If I had been sober, I wouldn’t have vomited words all over you; voicing all of the confused thoughts I’d had during our time together, naming all of our issues and blaming you for most of them. I’d undo that if I could

If I could start our relationship over again from the very beginning, there are a few things I would do differently. Wouldn’t you? Then again, if we were able to do it all again, it wouldn’t be our first time. Navigating non-monogamous long-distance dating was new to both of us – we were bound to make mistakes.

Do you remember the bowl I painted when we went on a pottery painting date? It’s covered in yellow stars and it reminds me of you whenever I look at it. I was tempted to ‘accidentally’ break it for a while because I wasn’t sure how it made me feel but I’m glad I resisted the urge. 

Perhaps I am looking at it with the rose-tinted glasses of hindsight but my star-covered bowl reminds me of how we shone together. I hope the one you painted that day does the same.

I like what we were, whatever that was. Perhaps we will rekindle it into a friendship one day.

For now, I will leave our relationship – past, present and future – as undefined as it is unfinished. 

Lots of love (in a platonic sense),

Greg