Tuesday morning, I woke up from a chilling dream about a guy I was in a situationship with in my late twenties. I guess 2026 really is 2016 again. In the dream, he handed me a letter he’d written, describing how much he had actually cared for me all those years ago. I wasn’t able to read the entire letter before I woke up, naturally. I lay in bed wishing I could fall back asleep to finish it, as if it might have contained the truth that would’ve eased the pain I felt at that time—but of course, I couldn’t.
Even before the dream, though, he—and a few other former lovers—had been on my mind because of Heated Rivalry. I’ve been consumed by this queer love story over the past month (if you haven't seen on Instagram). The chemistry, the sexual tension, the tenderness, the emotional rollercoaster all felt achingly aspirational but sometimes hauntingly familiar. Was I captivated by this show because I recognized myself in Shane staring at Ilya with lovesick eyes after being ghosted for six months (my situationship also ghosted me more than once)? Like many others, it made me reflect on who had made me feel anything close to what these characters seemed to be feeling.
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