life as poems 'n letters

I saw Fleabag over the weekend at last. After what seemed like endless search, I discovered it on Prime Video and watched the full series straight through. Although it came out years ago, it couldn’t have arrived at a better moment in my life. Although it’s a dark comedy, its honest raw emotional quality stays with you long after seeing. Still working to get that out of my head.

I usually return to the very final episode whenever I need a decent weep.

Her eyes on him as she spoke, “I love you,” that last instant devoid of hope for a reply or demand for a reaction. Just a pronouncement, a fact assertion. “You don’t have to say anything.” She said, really meaning it.

That broke me at that very instant. We see such love how often? Love without expectation; love without pleading for its existence; love that is not dependent on reciprocity to be what it is. It was so transparent, so open. The Priest’s answer then was “It will pass.” That line broke me since it revealed a truth not consoling.It was a cruel reminder that love, no matter how great, will die if not nurtured, not a relief for the suffering. She was, however, thankful even in pain, delighted to have felt so intensely at all.

Fleabag expresses love as more than just physical need—more than longing and obsession. It was about the emotions he ignited for her and the lessons she learned about herself alongside him, not about her need for him. And that explains the great depth of the hurt. He answers in kind at last. “I love you too.” That was enough. Not because it changed anything, but rather because it simply didn’t have to.

I’m so thankful that I watched this show. It has a beauty to it that stays with you, seeping into you and staying there. When I need to feel something—really feel something—I know I can go back to that last episode and have it shatter me again.