Angel

My parents would always say angels don’t exist. I always thought they were wrong. I don’t know about the sky ones, but Earth angels definitely exist. Or at least that’s what I thought.

Throughout all my life I’ve had people helping me and supporting me in every step of the way. But she.. She was my angel. My best friend. The person that would always have my back, no matter what. But angels- and God- are for the Bible.

I can recall all those times that I felt betrayed, like being sucked into a black hole in a completely lonely galaxy. But there is only one memory that marked how I feel about her today: the summer of 2025.

I’m from Spain. She’s from France. That’s how we connected the first time, and it is exactly how our story ended.

My summers are a crucial part of my story. Waking up at midday, feeling the warm breeze entering  through my windows, eating cereal as my aperitivo and then heading out to see my friends. Seeing all that nature, touching that green grass, watching the stars until sunrise is the isolated world I need every single year.

But France was nothing like my summer.

When I arrived at that giant- white mansion located in the south of France, what I first saw was her long-bleached hair, her blue eyes, her model body, and her smile. That smile that carried with her endless memories, that had helped me to grow. I remember thinking nothing bad could happen. But I was wrong.

 First thing we did was swim in that clear- salty pool in which every water molecule felt like a memory. Feeling the strange contradiction of the sun melting my head but the water freezing my toes, listening to our parents talking about adult stuff, our brothers fighting in the background… It was perfect. Suddenly, I felt like everything had gotten back to normal. No boyfriends, just us. I felt her warmth again, her presence being there, those hugs that felt stuck in time. I could sense the chemistry between us recovering its path. 

“Te extrañe”- she said while tanning and playing with the water with her long hands.

“Me too”- I replied.

We stared at each other, and we both felt something different. Something I had never sensed before. Something that truly broke my heart. She did not feel like my sister anymore. She was a total stranger to my heart. 

That melting afternoon in Marseille was the last time I was ever happy with her. That same night, while the temperature lowered and our parents warmed themselves with the smoky air of barbecue, Chiara, a friend of hers, came over. With her boyfriend. 

“Tu aime mon compain”- Said Chiara in a basic french I could clearly understand.

“Oui, tu aime mon?”– she replied

“Oui”– said Chiara

They spent all night talking about their boyfriends and how they are the most important people in their lives. But me? I was just waiting for her to realize I was there. I was no longer happy. Tears flooded my face and my clothes. They took over me. They took over my heart. They stole every rational part of me.

I first thought I was jealous, that I just felt lonely because my insuperable ex had just headed out to college. But again, it was not about that. Life gave me another lesson. 

And after that, I could only repeat nonstop the moment in which she said her boyfriend was the most important person in her life. The only person that made her happy. In that exact moment I understood that I had lost her. And no, not because I saw her as an object, but because I had lost her soul. That connection that felt as if we were joined by bluetooth. Now, I understand that  connection is corrupted, that love is not love without connection and that the music speaker may not work, even if you try to connect it over and over again. Now I know that I don’t need anyone else to be my life support, because I am my own. I can be myself, no need to have a double, no need to have a soulmate. Just the need of true friends that remain close to you without drowning you.

After hours and hours of pure sobbing, of touching my mom’s soft skin, of holding her hand, of remaining in silence, she only said one sentence:

“ Aquí estoy para ti”

I stopped crying realizing that mothers are the only ones that suffer along with you even if you don’t ask them to. They are the only ones that see you crying and will hear you cursing for hours while holding your hand and saying everything is going to be okay.

Those moments when my mom had my back as my entire world fell apart helped me in ways I could never explain in words.

Thanks to her, now I understand I had to go through pain to be able to grow.

After that, the rest of the days felt like a daily routine. No more midday breakfast, no more sleeping at 6 am. Just me and my parents holding the backpack of memories, carrying it around and switching so it does not collapse on anyones’ back.

It was now time to leave France. It was time to say goodbye, of letting go. The moment I hugged her I knew it was over. Her hugs did not feel warm anymore, instead they were colder than the pool water. Her light eyes did not reflect love, they showed distance. Her smile did not show memories, it showed a burned story. 

I walked away towards the car. I got in. No words, just a pure, honest discrepancy between my feelings. As the car drove away, I could not stop looking at her, realizing that was the end of our dream of traveling the world together.

It was hard. Really hard. It physically hurt my chest. It burned. It didn’t let me breathe, or eat, or sleep. My angel had flown away. But now I understand that it needed to happen, and that for me to be able to grow, to keep going with my life, to establish connections, to follow my dreams, I needed to let her go. Because love ties you to that person, but when you let someone you love go away, you fly. You find yourself again, you find what makes you happy. You go for a run, you try a new vegetable, you work out even harder, and you keep going. Stopping moving your wings is never an option. You have to keep flying. Always. Just like angels.

That was a wrap. The end of an era. The end of something that I had constructed for many years. The last goodbye to the person that I’ve loved the most.

But ends are necessary. They are integral. What is life without death? What is college without graduation? What is high school without the last first day of school?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Ends give purpose to stories. It implements risk. Relationships are exactly that: the risk of getting your heart broken by loving someone so much. If it works forever you are truly lucky, but if it doesn’t, you learn. You learn how life works, you make yourself a better person, you face your true self and are challenged to deal with it.

This was the end of a story, but the beginning of a life long journey of maturity and self awareness.