It’s strange how patterns in life sometimes reveal themselves in the most unexpected ways. As I sit here reflecting, I can’t help but notice a familiar, almost eerie, sequence that seems to repeat itself every year. It’s always around March when I find myself getting deeply attached to someone, allowing myself to believe in the beauty of connection, to envision a future that’s bright and full of possibility. Those early moments are intoxicating, full of warmth and excitement. Everything feels right, and for a while, I feel like I’m living in a dream. But, as the days stretch on, I know too well what’s coming next. Like clockwork, the dream begins to crack, and by June, what once felt like a beautiful escape from loneliness spirals into a nightmare I can’t seem to avoid.
The realization hits me hard each year—why does this keep happening? Why does it always feel like the universe conspires against me when I start to care about someone? It’s as though every ounce of happiness I experience during those spring months is just a precursor to something darker that looms over the horizon. The change from March to June is like a cruel betrayal; what once felt like love now feels like a weight I can’t carry. The tenderness that once bloomed in my heart withers, and I can’t help but feel like it’s all slipping away, no matter how hard I try to hold on.
Then comes July, the month I dread. It’s always during this time that everything seems to fall apart. No matter how much I try to stay grounded, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that all the unfortunate events in my life are somehow gathered in this one month. When the storm hits, it hits with full force. Every bad thing I’ve tried to avoid or forget comes rushing back, making me feel like I’m drowning in my own misfortune. My heart aches with every setback, every failure, every disappointment, and I wonder if I’m cursed to carry this shadow of bad luck forever. It’s as though I’m destined to face hardship after hardship, without respite, no matter how much I hope things will be different.
The worst part of it all is the quiet, nagging feeling that perhaps I’m not meant for love, for connection, for the happiness I see others experience. I know the pattern now, but I can’t seem to stop myself from falling into it again. I get swept up in the idea of a happy ending, a fairytale that I want to believe is still possible for me. But I always wake up to reality, where I’m left alone, picking up the pieces of what once felt like a beautiful dream. It’s a cruel cycle—fall in love, get attached, watch it crumble, and repeat. I know it’s foolish to keep hoping for something that seems so far out of reach, yet I can’t help but yearn for that elusive happiness that feels just beyond my grasp.
Sometimes, I wonder if there’s something inherently wrong with me. Maybe I’m just too much of a dreamer, too naïve, or perhaps the universe is telling me that I’m not meant to experience love the way I want to. Maybe there’s a reason that no matter how hard I try, my relationships always seem to be doomed. I start to think maybe I’m the problem, the one carrying all the bad luck that keeps things from working out. It’s a heavy thought—one that feels like a weight on my chest, making every hopeful thought feel like a lie.
But then, there’s a small voice inside that tells me not to give up. Maybe it’s not about the pattern, the months, or the failed relationships. Maybe it’s about learning to live with the messiness of life, the heartbreaks, the setbacks, and the unexpected twists. Maybe the curse isn’t something that defines me, but rather a challenge that I have to face in order to grow stronger, to learn more about myself, and to become more resilient. Perhaps the happy ending I seek isn’t something that will happen overnight, and maybe, just maybe, it’s not the end of the world when things don’t go as planned.
I’m still here, still trying, still hoping. And maybe that’s the most important thing. Despite the pain, despite the setbacks, I haven’t given up. I’m not a fool for dreaming of a happily ever after, because dreams are what keep us moving forward. Perhaps one day, I’ll find that love that lasts, the kind that’s not bound by months or patterns or bad luck. Until then, I’ll keep moving, even if it feels like it’s all falling apart. Maybe the true curse isn’t bad luck, but the fear of never trying again. And as long as I keep trying, I know I haven’t given up on the possibility of happiness.
