We were never a couple really.
I mean, we were, but she would always deny it in public. In fact she blamed me for scaring away any possible dates because all the guys we met thought I was with her. Notice I said we met, not her. I was introducing her to people and socializing and she disowned me in a heartbeat. Unless of course we were alone. I wish she was like this when everyone was around: all these jokes about how we’re like a married couple after 10 years when all the luvy-dubby stuff is over spill out so effortlessly through her full lips.
I might have wanted to kiss her but that is a question I still struggle with today. Would it have been worth it? If we can say that it’s better to have loved and lost then to have never loved before then yes, I should have kissed her. But the reality of my situation, of my life, is that cliches are best left to sub-par writers, and their less than knowledgeable readers who encourage the hopeless lot.
I suppose that is harsh, but no harsher than she was: a tongue ripe with indignation to anything I had to say or believe, unless of course she had asked me about herself. Then all she wanted to hear was good things: you are a 10, perfect; you have a nice ass, really it’s not small it’s just the right size; of course I’d marry you, I’d consider myself lucky if my future wife is half the woman you are sweetie.
If I said I was lying then I’d be lying now, but I was lying about the last one. The truth lies in the context of the question: marry her now? No. But after she’s come to terms with herself? It would be a blessing. See, she really is amazing. Quite phenomenal and I must be a sub-par writer because this is one of those she-doesn’t-realize-her-true-potential-to-be-great-and-is-depressed.
I see that the latter part might be a bit of a misnomer? True, but that would leave an incredible amount of what happened thoroughly unexplained. Well unexplained for me at least. Bystanders gather and throw explanations haphazardly, regardless of my emotions or well being. Actually now that I think about it, we were both overlooked her and I. Both of us side-notes in other folks gossip. Because if she impacted everyone like she tore through my life, I doubt I’d be able to go a few days without hearing her name.
Truth is, I’m the only one who bothers to bring her up in a conversation. Sadly, it’s usually under a negative connotation but in my head I find a way for her to make up for it. That’s woefully unnecessary because what happened was something that I definitely had to overcome and endure at one point or another. The sooner rather than the later. But why me? Actually that’s irrelevant.
The real question has nothing to do with why I was singled out. The real question is tangential to everything that happened but I still, a year later cannot fathom the answer. I wonder does she ask herself the same question. I doubt she thinks of me that often despite what she says because at the end of the day I only matter to her when I’m in front of her, responding. Oh yeah I remember that I have a dog because it is hungry and I need to feed it. Contrarily I am just ruminating in the aftermath.
I’m writing about her.
How much do you really think about some one? Enough to chronicle your time with that person and reflect through the memories with the precision of a science endeavor? This is much more than a failed respite between two bitter people. I don’t even know where to start but I know where to end: I love her.