On Borrowed Time, 2026

Yarn, beads, and ribbon, 8.5”x27”

A piece dedicated to my summer situationship: you dove into me, ripped me open, and left me to bleed. A part of me will always have love for you, but that version of me no longer exists.

“On Borrowed Time” is a term that defines circumstances that are uncertain and usually uncontrollable, the postponement of something inevitable and unwanted.

I spent the summer of 2025 dating a guy who I thought really liked me- in the beginning, I think he actually did. We went on many dates. He was not shy about holding me close in public and showing me affection. We had many sleepovers. He spent nights in my bed weekly, despite us both having work early the next morning. He met my friends and got along well with them. I thought I got on well with his friends and even met his sisters. I thought this was the beginning of a really cool relationship. I could never help but feel a pit in my stomach for most of the time we were dating, though. I wrote it off as just nerves.

My dating life has been a long string of unfortunate and unfulfilling relationships- even some abusive. The feeling of my stomach dropping out of me is one I’m familiar with. In the months following, I would come to learn that every single time my body felt warm when I was around him, it wasn’t because I thought he was cute and had the “hots” for him; it was actually my intuition setting my nervous system on fire. I thought this all to be normal when it actually could not be further from the truth.

Everyone tends to be on their best behavior in the beginning stages of dating. As I grew more attached to him, I truly believe my feelings for him scared him, and in his head, he had no choice but to flee. I’ll never understand where it went wrong, and that’s something I’ve come to accept. After months of push and pull, me, looking for a label- some sort of clarity, and him not wanting to define that for me because any amount of truth feels too scary, he finally broke up with me. I never got any closure, I was hugely mistreated, and I will always hate him at least a little for the disrespect he gave me. It was entirely unfair. Not liking me back in the same way is totally okay, and really nobody’s fault. But leading me on and not giving me clarity for what was going on between us does leave him totally at fault and, in all transparency, a douchebag. He is no different than all of the other horrible men I’ve experienced in the past, just in prettier packaging.

At times, I lie awake at night and wonder if he feels guilty and regrets what he did to me. I’d like to believe that the version of him that I grew to like so much would. The one who held every door open for me. The one whose eyes seemed to light up when they set upon me. The one who ran to engulf me in a hug when he returned from a long trip. The one who danced with me the night that random guy told us what a beautiful couple we were together. The one whose hand would always be reaching out to graze my leg or leave an arm lingering around my waist. The one who slept in my bed. The one who held my hand when I got my eyebrow pierced. The one I sat on top of in my underwear and rubbed his temples. The one who I felt soften under my touch.

I spent the months after his switch-up constantly crying, dragging myself to work, desperately trying to get through the day without a breakdown. Attending social gatherings begrudgingly and counting down the minutes until it was acceptable to go back home to my bed and sleep the pain away. In mourning, I managed to create this piece and turn all of my pain and grief into something tangible. I have huge emotions and love those around me very deeply. So I needed proof of this happening. That it wasn’t all in my head and I wasn’t crazy for feeling such extreme sadness.