The two exchanged their final dialogue at a bus stop. She said to him, “You know the worst thing is that I fucking love you. I love you.” They are sitting beside one another at a bus stop, the street abandoned. The only light on their faces comes from a street lamp. Before the Priest can respond, she cuts him off. “No, no, don’t. No, let’s just leave that out there, just for a second on its own… I love you.”
“It’ll pass,” the priest said after a long silence. They both had a bittersweet smile.
This is the final scene of Phoebe Waller-Bridges’ one-woman-play-turned-show, Fleabag. Though every single episode of the show undoubtedly contains some of the most brilliant writing ever created for a television show, these last moments of the entire series most resonate with me. They’re what completely cemented my deep love for it.
I came to Fleabag a few summers ago when a friend recommended it to me. I became so invested in it that I didn’t get up to leave my computer for the entirety of its twelve episodes. Each joke was masterfully crafted, and each gasp was rightfully earned. Even years later, I still find myself coming back to this show every couple of months.
Throughout the second and final season, the main character, Fleabag, falls in love with a Catholic Priest, someone who isn’t “allowed” to love her back. It is important to mention that almost none of the characters are actually given names in dialogue. Rather, the credits refer to characters as, “Godmother”, “The Priest” and, in the case of the protagonist, “Fleabag.” The Priest tells Fleabag this not because he doesn’t feel the same way; he confesses this heartbreaking blow because he’s bound by obligations that ultimately won’t allow him to reciprocate her love.
Those two words remain so incredibly meaningful to me because they taught me that nothing is ever permanent: emotions—pain, joy, grief, and even love—that feel so everlasting will change. While it’s an inconvenient truth, there’s also a great deal of relief in it.
After I watched this scene, rather than devastated, I somehow felt hopeful. This felt strange, of course, given the fact that I had spent so much time watching these two people fall in love with one other—only for the show to end with them apart. My hope stemmed from the understanding that these stories are typically written with a happy ending. The more these endings piled up, the more it felt as if they existed. All it took was the person you love to love you back. So simple! So effortless! And yet, this narrative cannot always prove true.
Fleabag and the Priest’s final exchange taught me that this ideal was a lie. The only thing that is true is that everything will change. Feelings that seem so all-consuming at one point in life will be a vague memory at another in the future.
With his rejection, the Priest freed Fleabag to move on. They could never be together and she would only ultimately be destroyed by that reality. I now know that unbridled, stubborn love isn’t a curse, but it’s also not the cure to emptiness or loneliness. It’s the relationship you have with yourself, finding comfort in being on your own, that prepares you for the relationships that may not be fairy tales, but are integral to your story. And like everything else, it’ll always pass.