Kristiana Koutsi

Better read while listening Only for you by Heartless Bastards.

Dear reader,

It’s been a minute since I last shared an article with you — but as I promised myself, 2026 is going to be the year of me, myself, and I becoming the best version I can be.

Somewhere between reading, writing, and going to the gym, I paused and asked myself: Why don’t I miss dating at all?

It surprised me. All around me, I see happy couples — in parks, on trains, in my favourite cafés. People holding hands. Sharing desserts. Laughing. Whispering. Making plans.

And still… I don’t miss dating. Do I miss being in love? Absolutely. But dating? No.

I don’t know if it’s because of the promise I made to myself — to take time, to heal, to grow. Or if I’m just tired of trying. Probably both. But honestly, dear reader, I love love.

Just yesterday, I was sipping a glass of wine at my favourite café after work — a ritual I treasure — and I realised I was the only person sitting alone. The place was filled with couples, of all ages and stages.

People-watching is my favourite hobby. And as I watched the couples around me, I caught glimpses of something real.

At one table, a young couple held hands and spoke in soft voices. I watched them fall in love in real time. They whispered promises of loyalty. They said things like “I’ve never felt this before.” And I’m sure they hadn’t.

You see, with every new love, your soft spot doesn’t harden. You may become a bit more cautious, even cynical, but once you fall — truly fall — there are no sharp edges. We are all fools in love. And that’s the beauty of it.

Time may teach us not to give our hearts away so easily, but once we do — the love talk, the promises — they’re real. As we grow older, we don’t waste time. We don’t say what we don’t mean. So instead of speaking too much, we speak less — but we mean so much more.

At the table beside them, an older couple chatted with the kind of ease that only comes after decades together. They spoke about their grocery list and the neighbour’s dog — but with warmth, curiosity, and humour. It was beautiful.

I stopped for a moment and smiled.

To be loved is a wonderful gift. But to love — that’s an incredible experience. It’s like being visited by the muses. The whole world seems to sing just for the two of you.

No matter how many years pass, I know I’ll still slow dance with my partner while cooking. I’ll look them in the eyes and see the most perfect person who ever walked the earth.

So, standing there alone — as I so often do — I smiled, because I realised: Love is, indeed, all around.

I don’t know why, but in that moment, I felt at peace. Not because I was surrounded by love stories — young and old — but because I didn’t feel like I was incomplete. It didn’t feel like loneliness.

It felt like belief.

Belief in love again. Not the frantic, desperate kind. But the slow, soft kind that finds you when you’re not searching. The kind that comes not from lack, but from fullness.

And then it hit me — my favourite quote, the one I used to carry like a question:

“And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want — what do you call it: freedom or loneliness?”

Today, for the first time in a long time, my answer is clear: It’s freedom.

For the first time in a long time, my afternoons aren’t booked with people who, more often than not, only waste my time. Now, they’re filled with the things I love. I take long walks. I go to live gigs. I visit galleries and attend public lectures. I plan my next trip — this week, Spain. February, France. March, London. April, Cuba.

Yes, I still miss being in love. But suddenly, my freedom doesn’t feel so scary anymore.

I’m not just avoiding dating — I’m protecting myself. From the speed. From the pressure. From the illusion that love lives in our phones.

But I haven’t stopped believing in love.

This morning, on my way to work, I saw quiet proof of it again. A woman was cycling, and her partner jogged beside her — smiling, matching her pace. At the gym, a couple spotted each other with quiet care. My coworkers talk about their marriages — their silly arguments, the soft routines, the rituals of everyday affection.

I believe in love. I still can’t get enough of it.

I’m a sucker for love, I admit it — but not to the point of losing myself in it. My solitude isn’t an armour, nor is it a place I hide. In fact, I’m more open to love now than I ever was during my frantic dating days.

The only difference? The urgency is gone.

I no longer feel like I have to find someone. Or that someone has to find me. That pressure used to leave me drained and disappointed. I worried that my other half was either dead or didn’t exist. I chased the fantasy of “the one” so hard that I forgot to enjoy this life — a full, vibrant, beautifully messy life.

And the truth is, I’m blessed. For so many things. I have a life rich in joy, friendship, curiosity, and adventure. I have a character that wants to live — not just survive.

I grew up dreaming of becoming a bon viveur. And at 32, I think I’ve made that dream come true.

Even when I think back to the times my heart was shattered into a million pieces — it no longer brings bitterness. Lately, I’ve started to remember the good parts. Not what they did for me, but how deeply I used to love those people.

And that gives me hope. Because even with BPD, I am living proof that I can love. That I can love deeply — when the person is right.

So maybe I’ll be sitting alone at a table after work. But love is all around me — and I see it more clearly now than ever.

And I can’t help but wonder: Was love ever worth chasing? Or was I just chasing ghosts, hoping they were love?