8 songs.

 The Soundtrack of a Relationship (2013-2015)

Reflecting on relationships that deeply marked a time in our lives is never easy, but it’s also a journey of self-discovery. Music has a way of capturing those emotions better than words alone ever could, creating a soundtrack that tells the story of our ups and downs, our joys, and our heartbreaks. For me, this relationship between 2013 and 2015 was one of those intense connections where every milestone and setback seemed to have its own song—a perfect harmony of melody and memory.

It all started with the kind of easy connection that seemed like it could last forever, and Justin Timberlake’s “Not a Bad Thing” felt like the perfect anthem. With lyrics like, “So don't act like it's a bad thing to fall in love with me, 'cause you might look around and find your dreams come true, with me,” it was our vibe, carefree and hopeful. I remember feeling like we were on the edge of something special, not necessarily certain about where things would go but enjoying every minute of it. We had that sense of spontaneity, those long talks and late-night adventures, where everything seemed possible. It was new, exciting, and fun—just two people enjoying each other’s company with no heavy expectations.

As our relationship deepened, so did the music that defined it. “Stick Around” by Azure became our chill track, perfectly capturing the way we eased into each other’s lives. Things started feeling comfortable, and we built routines that were small but meaningful—like cooking together, late-night movie marathons, and hanging out with each other's friends. The lyrics reminded me of how we were committed but relaxed, giving each other space while being steadily by each other’s side. It was as though our bond was growing naturally, without either of us pushing for more than the other could give.

Then, one day, things shifted in a way I wasn’t expecting. It became deeper, and Lionel Richie’s “Stuck on You” became our go-to song. “Stuck on you, got this feeling down deep in my soul that I just can’t lose,” was exactly how it felt. We were no longer just two people dating; we were two people building something. I found myself planning for the future with him in mind, daydreaming about where we’d be in a few years. I felt certain and committed, thinking that he was the one I wanted to stick around.

In the middle of that emotional high, he dedicated a song to me that I never saw coming—“Dear God” by Avenged Sevenfold. He told me to listen closely, especially to the lyrics: “Dear God, the only thing I ask of you is to hold her when I’m not around, when I’m much too far away.” That song had such a powerful message, and I knew he meant it as a promise of his love and protection. He was telling me that even when we were apart, he wanted me to know he was thinking of me, that his heart was with me. I’d never had someone dedicate a song so personal and heartfelt to me before, and it made me fall even harder.

I felt so much in that moment, but there was also this underlying fear of losing myself in the relationship. So, in response, I dedicated “Life After You” by Daughtry to him. It was my way of saying, “All that I'm after is a life full of laughter, as long as I'm laughing with you.” I wanted him to know that I was all-in, that he was the one I wanted to build my life with. It felt like we were both reassuring each other, affirming that what we had was real and worth fighting for.

But like many intense relationships, things began to change. As time went on, arguments became more frequent. Chris Brown’s “Don’t Judge Me” became my personal anthem for him. I played it over and over, feeling like the lyrics spoke to everything I wanted him to understand: “So please don't judge me, and I won't judge you, 'cause it could get ugly before it gets beautiful.” We were both flawed, and our issues started coming out. There were things he couldn’t accept about me, and vice versa. But I wanted us to accept each other despite the flaws—to move past the judgment and just work things out.

In the final stretch of our relationship, things got heavier and harder to fix. The song that captured this period was “Days That We Die” by Loudon Wainwright, a song that hauntingly resonated with the state of things. After every fight, I’d listen to “These are the days that we die, the days we all live through,” and it felt like a sad truth. Every argument felt like a piece of us was fading, like we were holding on to something that had already run its course. We were both tired, yet neither of us was willing to be the first to let go.

Ultimately, the end came with Justin Bieber’s “Love Yourself.” It wasn’t a song of ours, but it perfectly captured my mindset as I moved on. I played it to remind myself that I deserved better, that self-respect and self-love were more important than staying in something that only brought me pain. “If you like the way you look that much, oh baby, you should go and love yourself,” became my mantra. I realized that I had given so much of myself, trying to be what he needed, trying to be perfect, when all along I had forgotten to love myself.

Looking back, I see that every song was like a chapter in our relationship—a timeline of emotions that we both went through together, but also alone in our own ways. There were beautiful moments, no doubt. But there were also painful ones that taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible. This relationship wasn’t easy, but it taught me the kind of love I didn’t want. And as I move forward, these songs will always remind me of that wild, crazy love story and the lessons it left behind.