The People I Have Fancied: A History of My Heart

My friend told me to write about the people I’ve fancied — so here I am, writing what I remember, what I felt, what still lingers.

✦ My Dating Ethos ✦

When I go on dates, I go to experience life. To take a sip of someone’s existence.

Even if we never go on a second, third, or fifth date — I still went on a date with you. That means something to me. I date for experience, not for outcome. And I’ve been on 50 — no, 51 — first dates. I could probably name each one, if I had to. Because none of them were basic, transactional, or forgettable. Every single one was a moment of shared existence.

I don’t date to find “the one.” I date to find a moment. A shared laugh. A new story. A flicker of joy. We share breath. We share a little universe for a little while. We shine on each other. We exchange histories — love, life, loss, who we are, who we’re becoming. That’s a date to me.

The success of a date isn’t measured by whether there’s a sequel. Call it a cope if you want — I’ve had plenty of second dates too. But I’m not dating to accumulate lovers or build a relationship résumé. I’m dating for the fleeting beauty of connection. And those connections live on. They flourish in my writing. Sometimes I can’t even trace the line — who said what, who inspired which poem — but it’s all there. Their words, our conversations, they echo in me.

I’ve been dating since I was 17. But full disclosure? I was on dating apps from age 13. Not to link or hook up, but to talk. To connect. I asked people, “If your life was a movie, what would this chapter be called?” And they answered. That’s how I learned to be a conversationalist. That’s how I learned to see people. Maybe that’s also why no one clocked my autism early — because I was out here learning to speak the language of strangers, through curiosity.

So no, I don’t follow anyone else’s dating rules. Why should I? My way works. It doesn’t leave me hollow. I’m not crushed when something doesn’t last because I’m not chasing longevity.

I’m chasing moments — and maybe, just maybe, those moments stretch into months, or years, or a lifetime.

But I’m not here for the weight of obligation. I want to continuously choose the person I’m with — not just stay because the moment prior was beautiful.

And if one day I stop choosing? If we no longer align?

Then we let go — gently. There’s no need to cling to something just because it once felt good.

There’s nothing wrong with either of us.

Or maybe there is.

Maybe you’re just not for me, and I’m not for you.

And that’s okay.

✦ On Love, Again and Again ✦

One life.

One life — a billion people to love.

Love is easy.

I genuinely think I could fall in love with anybody.

Anyone who shows me their truth.

Anyone who takes off the mask, even for a moment.

If you show me you, I will probably fall in love.

But love alone doesn’t hold things together.

Maintaining love is what’s hard.

I can love you deeply — and still leave.

Because the love I have for myself fuels me first.

And that love is what sets the standard. That love is what keeps me whole.

I’ve loved many.

Every time my heart breaks, I think:

“Never again.”

And then I do it again. And again. And again.

To love is fun.

It’s reflection. It’s freedom.

I see myself in your eyes, and for a while, I feel light.

I love with my chest open.

Sometimes it bleeds.

But I’d rather heartbreak than regret.

Because as much as it hurts, heartbreak is proof:

I felt something. I was alive. I loved.

And I have many more people to love.

Many more stories to live through.

Many more moments to share breath with someone new.

Live, laugh, love — cliché, yeah, but also kind of true.

✦ Thank You, Kitty ✦

My first love.

If I never loved you, I don’t think I’d love the way I do now.

We met at 13.

And I’ve loved you since.

I still do, in a way.

My heart holds you.

And every person who came after —

they got a piece of the love I first shaped for you.

You taught me how to love.

And I don’t look for your face in other people anymore,

but I do still give them the softness you once gave me.

I hope you’re well.

I think of you.

A lot.

I love you.

✦ Mourning & Memory ✦

Sometimes I mourn the version of myself who used to love so freely.

I’ve changed.

I’ve grown.

And so have the people I once obsessed over, wrote about, chased or cherished.

Seeing them now — their evolution — reminds me of mine.

Adulthood has stung me.

Freedom feels different now. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

But these crushes, these flings, these fascinations —

they’re threads in the tapestry of who I’ve been.

I look back, and part of me grieves.

But a bigger part?

A bigger part feels grateful.

To have felt that much.

To have fancied such beautiful beings.

To have lived that fully, even just for a moment.

✦ The Boy With the String Belt (2016)✦

Law class, 2016.

I can’t actually remember if I ever confessed my feelings to him — but during that period, 2016 to 2018, I was in my “confess everything” era.

If I fancied you, I told you.

You’re fine? I’m gonna say it. Period. The fuck.

He Soooo sexy.

And the reason I started to fancy him?

One time, he wore a string — like, an actual shoe string — as a belt.

And I was like, yes, God.

You’re literally giving.

Fashion killer. Effortless. 10/10.

He’s married now.

And when I found out, it stung — but not because I thought we’d end up together.

It was symbolic.

He had always lived in this free, sexy, fresh, unruly little memory box of mine — 2016, ripped jeans, rebellion, and that string belt.

And now? Married.

Marriage felt like a new box. 

Not Bad, not lesser. Just different.

Sealed. Stable. Adult.

No longer just the hot boy with the string belt.

It made me feel weirdly old. It made me grieve a version of myself.

But back to then.

One time he complimented my writing.

January 34th, 2019 — okay, I know that date doesn’t exist, but that’s how the memory lives in my head.

I posted a screenshot of my blog on my story. It was something about how “it’s okay not to be okay.”

He popped up with a 💯 emoji.

I asked,

“What did you think?”

He said:

“Honestly, I’m going through a lot of stuff. It really made a lot of sense.”

I replied:

“I’m glad I get you. Is it uni?”

He said

yeah — uni, money, life.

I said:

“If you need someone to vent to, I’m here. I hope you feel better soon.”

He said:

“Thank you, my G.”

And that was that.

I follow him on Instagram. He was always doing something. Active. Passionate. Loud in a good way.

He introduced me (without knowing it) to activism.

He wrote things. And I read them.

He was engaged.

Present.

A very interesting man.

Shout out to law boy. I hope he’s doing well. I hope he’s alive.

Shout out to the string belt.

✦ Psychology Boi (2016) ✦

Psychology Boi.

I started fancying him in 2016. We went to the same college, and I sat across from him in psychology class for two years. He is — to this day — so fit. He’s a model now, which feels very full circle. He always had that quiet, demure confidence. Smart, pretty, funny and just… hot.

He used to make me laugh in a way that made my insides fizz. You know when someone’s hot and they’re funny? Unfair. Unreal and I got front row seats to his comedy show. Every Tuesday for two years.

Anyway — on New Year’s Day 2017, I messaged him:

I literally capitalised the ED to make it clear this was in the past. It wasn’t a flirt, it wasn’t a ploy. I just wanted to let him know. Because he was, and is, extremely beautiful — and I believe in telling people they’re beautiful.

✦ Cuba (2019) ✦

We met in 2019.

From Hinge.

My first ever date with someone when i moved to london.

We hadn’t — I just messaged:

“Hey, let’s go to Peckham Levels.”

We met at Pop Brixton.

I saw them before they saw me.

They were checking their reflection in their phone.

I remember thinking they looked beautiful.

They came up to me.

We chatted a bit.

I asked,

“Are you creative?”

They said yes.

I was on a writing course at the time, so I pulled out a newspaper and my notebook and gave them a writing prompt. (That’s how I flirt.)

I was too broke for bar drinks, so we got a bottle from Sainsbury’s instead.

We got waved.

Talked about how much we hated men.

Then danced at Peckham Levels.

I don’t know when it stopped being dating and became friendship.

But one time — maybe our third hangout — someone asked how we met.

We said:

“Hinge.”

We looked at each other.

Then they said, rather quickly:

“But we’re just friends though.”

And something sank in my chest.

We were friends until November 2024.

It ended slowly, and then all at once.

There had been strain for a while.

A slow drip of hurt feelings. I kept making excuses.

But it all ended with a sprained knee — when they left me alone with it.

That was the last straw.

✦ French American(2025) ✦

I think of them and it makes me smile.

We still call, from time to time.

And every time we do, the way they say my name —

It tugs at the strings of my heart.

We met in Paris.

At my friend’s wedding.

2025.

⸻

From a voice memo I made that week

(Part poem, part ramble, part memory)

Paris was love, politics, music, food, new crushes, hand-holding, sharing stories in borrowed sheets.

Imagining a story of you and me.

I saw you for the first time at a sewing machine, helping someone piece things together.

My Friend Who’s wedding it was had told me:

“They’re amazing. One of my longest friends. We’ve known each other since we were 13.”

I was told I might be sharing a bed with you.

And when I saw you, a little butterfly flapped inside me at the thought.

The first night, I slept on the bed, you on the couch.

In the morning, I stretched and said, “You can take the bed if you want.”

Later, I came into the room and you gestured for me to sit on the bed.

We lay there talking about nothing and everything.

We whispered.

I leaned in to hear you better.

You told me:

“You’re beautiful. You’re full of creativity.”

I told you I thought the same.

We held hands in the streets of Paris.

It felt electric.

I read a sign that said “Kiss Me.”

You said:

“I will.”

And then you laughed.

I loved that.

Back at the apartment, we all shared a bed — me, you, and V.

You both snored while I stayed up, anxious, replaying the day.

The next day we played games — Mafia, improv, Zip Zap Zop.

I performed a pineapple poem.

You helped me take out my braids.

Your hands were so gentle.

That final night,

We shared a bed.

We didn’t sleep.

We talked until the sun came up.

You told me childhood stories.

We held hands under the duvet.

I asked to put my arm around you.

You said yes.

We whispered about our families, about fear, about joy.

You told me your first impression of me:

“You’re full of light.”

At 7 a.m., I said goodbye.

Hugged you. Whispered:

“I can do a jumping split.”

You can’t.

Childish. Flirty.

A little performance.

I wanted you to remember me.

⸻

And one more memory:

You had a California driver’s license.

You told me there were three dots on it, and if you looked through them, the sun would shine.

You called me over.

Held the license up to the light.

Your face was next to mine.

You said, “See?”

I said, “That’s so cool.”

We talked about gender. Identity. Life. You’re fine as fuck.

You knew it.

I knew it.

And we held hands again.

Was it mutual? I don’t know.

Delusion? Maybe.

But I’m not ashamed.

It made me happy.

And that’s enough.

——

A little taster of my Crush Chronicles and there’s so much more maybe I’ll publish it. Maybe I’ll keep it to myself but it’s midnight and I needed to get it out.

Goodnight

Initial next time

mwahhhh xoxo