Love is beautiful. Love is innocent. And sometimes, love is toxic.

The first time I listened to Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt, I was probably in SS2. I hadn’t yet experienced heartbreak, but the song struck a deep cord that felt like I had. It transported me into a world of aching hearts and silent goodbyes, a world I didn’t yet belong to but could already feel. I remember feeling shattered, moved by the weight of emotions I didn’t yet understand.\

For me, Goodbye My Lover became more than a song — it was my little universe. Sometimes chaotic, sometimes peaceful and sweet. It was the soundtrack to my make-believe world of love, longing, and heartbreak.

I remember the first time I uttered the dreaded words “I love you.” It was to a girl who meant the world to me, my safe space, my comfort. In her eyes, I found my universe. Back then, playing James Blunt became something of a ritual. The song became my everyday dopamine release, a strange therapy for a boy caught in the whirlwind of teenage emotion.

But high school love wasn’t kind to me. Like James sang, “Goodbye my lover…” I guess our love wasn’t built to last a lifetime. Maybe it was just an escape, a beautiful detour from the looming reality that adulthood was fast approaching.

This is an ode to my ex, to young love, and the naivety that shaped it. And to James Blunt: thank you. You were the background music to a chapter of my life that still lingers in my memory.

Now, love feels different: more nuanced, more grounded. It’s not the dizzying high of infatuation or the blind pursuit of fairy tales. It’s quiet admiration from afar that doesn’t demand or disrupt. Like James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful, it lives in a fleeting moment of truth, knowing that even if nothing comes of it, the feeling is genuine, and that’s enough.