This is the first year I’ve watched Love Island on TV. I thought I was above it until I hurt myself (see my last post here) and found myself in bed with a lot of free time.
I needed something with an overwhelming amount of episodes and absolutely no challenging plots. Love Island was ideal.
This was the first year I’d watched it on TV and I couldn’t believe it was on every single night. That regularity is hard to resist, and everybody is watching it. Love Island becomes British small talk as much as the weather.
I spoke about Love Island with pretty much every person I came into contact with over the past 8 weeks. I even discussed it with my physiotherapist, trying to give my two cents between bone manipulations, my voice muffled into the table.
I didn’t want it to end, because it would mean the summer was almost over. And that means I’ll be going back to college here whilst my best friend/boyfriend/roommate moves away for university.
I feel as though time is ticking away and there’s pressure to spend it well. Most nights I’ll look over at my dog curled up on his chair, his body melting around a pillow, and look round to my best friend in the world on the sofa next to me, and wonder how I can freeze time.
I know whatever happens next, in ten years time I’ll do anything to be back here. Back to this moment on the sofa, with this dog and this person. I feel hyperaware of how easy and effortless it is to be with them now. I can almost feel my future heart aching.
And I feel like I’m wasting time missing these moments before they’re gone, and I should avoid dwelling on the move until it happens. Is that healthy? I don’t know.
The whole thing is a necessary evil. I want the best for my best friend. And it’s only temporary. But as far as long distance relationships go, I have no idea what that even looks like. Who would I watch television with?
The day is so much better when it starts with him saying hi. He’s a human hot water bottle and the most relentlessly positive person I’ve ever met. He is the most annoying, patronising person to have ever set foot in a kitchen but I still want him there every night, leaning over my shoulder and asking for salt updates on my food.
It feels like a thin line between pretending it’s not happening and falling apart.
This has become an All American Rejects song, but the end of Love Island really brought home to me that the summer is almost over and I’m not ready to be split in two.