I still remember the month and year our eyes first met. It was June 2019, at a vegan street fair in Pasadena, where I held the hand of my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. We stopped by a burger stand where his friend, Allen, happened to work, and as he introduced us, I felt an irrevocable attraction.

The moment Allen’s eyes met mine, it was as if I suddenly knew who I was supposed to be with.

Years passed. I dated, but nothing seemed to fill the dissatisfaction I felt with love. I often wondered what was wrong with me. Was I looking for something dysfunctional? Were my standards too high or too low? I couldn’t find the answer.

Then in 2023, a notification popped up on Instagram: a friend request from Allen. I stared at my phone in disbelief. Could this be the connection I’d been waiting for all these years?

We met at a restaurant called Joy in Highland Park, his neighborhood and my favorite part of Los Angeles. Our conversations flowed easily. For the first time in my life, I felt compatible with someone. We were both on healing journeys, sober, vegan and in love with nature. Allen was even an amazing vegan chef. I felt as though I couldn’t have asked for more. I had found the answer to all of my failed connections. Suddenly all the miserable dates and failed relationships felt worth it because they led me to him.

I wanted to take things slowly, to be sure his intentions matched mine. Allen assured me he wanted a relationship and dreamed of starting a family. One night, as our connection deepened, he asked, “Have you been with anyone in the L.A. metal scene?”

I froze. Should I be honest and tell him I’d dated his friend or stay quiet and risk the truth surfacing later? Wanting an open relationship built on trust, I told him. The disappointment in his eyes was instant.

“My ex is your friend,” I said softly. “I know that’s awkward.”

He agreed it was, and I felt a wall suddenly rise between us. I regretted being honest, because in the moment, it felt as though honesty had desecrated the connection Allen and I were building. I found myself wondering how things would have been had I omitted this information. But I quickly reminded myself that a sincere romance will never be built on lies.

Allen said he still wanted to keep getting to know me, and I clung to that hope. The next morning, after we’d talked about hikes and plans for the future, I noticed the same distance as the night before. Then he uttered that he was not looking for anything serious. My heart cracked.

Was it because of his friend, my ex? Or had I simply misread everything? My heart was racing, and my mind was going in circles, trying to figure out what went wrong. Once again I found myself having to make a tough decision.

As someone who believed that true love is worth fighting for, living by the words that nothing worth having comes easy, I felt perplexed. Do I continue to see him, in hopes that he would one day come around? It took all of my strength to decide on what was right. Because what was right felt wrong. I told him I couldn’t see him again. He seemed affected, but not enough to change his mind.

Two days later, he called me, saying he’d thought about it and wanted to try again. He admitted that the “friend thing” bothered him more than it should have. I admired his vulnerability.

For a while we had fun, slipping into an easy rhythm, having thought-provoking conversations and sharing things about our upbringing that affect us today and ways to break cycles. I felt incredibly connected to him.

After sharing the news with my best friend about my romance with Allen, she burst my bubble: “You’re in a situationship.” I became unhinged, describing the connection Allen and I had, the things he would say and how he would make me feel. She confirmed that what I had shared with her was the solid definition of a “situationship.” She added that it meant closeness without commitment.

“You’re a placeholder,” she said. I was shattered.

That night I asked Allen where he saw us going. He repeated that we were still getting to know each other and that he couldn’t focus on a relationship while between jobs. As fair as that sounded, I knew what it meant: His heart wasn’t in it. Mine was. Once again, I left feeling shattered.

Two years passed. It was this summer when Allen texted, asking how I was. Seeing his name on my screen sent my stomach lurching. Could this finally be our time?

We met again, and hugging him felt surreal. He told me he had been struggling years ago but was now in a better, more stable place. He gazed into my eyes as if to prove it. I wanted so badly to believe him. Once again, I gave in, and once again, the warmth vanished almost immediately.

His body language changed; his words turned distant. I realized his tenderness had been an act — one I’d willingly fallen for again.

Clarity arrived where hope used to live. I couldn’t keep cycling through the same heartbreak. One day I’d be fine, and the next I would find myself devastated, yearning to hear from him. When his messages didn’t appear on my phone, I felt a sense of emptiness that only he was able to fill.

The thought that I hadn’t crossed his mind devastated me. I could no longer perpetuate a cycle of delusion, waiting for our right time to come. It wasn’t going to.

For years, I fed myself the fantasy that things hadn’t worked out with anyone else because who I was meant to be with was Allen.

I knew in my heart that despite how deeply I felt for him, the silence, the indifference, the lack of effort — those were my answers. Love isn’t a riddle waiting to be solved. When someone cares, you don’t have to decode it.

I had spent years chasing closure, convincing myself that one more conversation or one more kiss might fix everything. But closure, I learned, was just another way to reopen the door. What I really needed was acceptance. Acceptance that was painful yet freeing.

This time, I choose myself. I choose to fill my own cup, because to find true lasting love, it has to start within me.

The author is a writer and poet from Long Beach. She’s learning to find love and beauty in everything except romantic love for the moment. She’s on Instagram: @cold_brewjita.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here. Editor’s note: L.A. Affairs will return Dec. 12.