You were new. You happened so fast. I took a risk and got in way deeper I thought I could have.
You’re everything I’m not – aggravatingly impatient, always confident and shameless, charming and outgoing.
When I came to college I knew all the traits I loved in a man; inspiring beliefs, strong family values, but mainly consistency and a good heart. You came to me, and you had all of these ideals times a thousand. I never could get over that.
You taught me how to shoot a gun. It was the first day I met you. Sitting in a chair, I couldn’t see the target, so you offered for me to sit on your lap. It seemed innocent…but I think I know what you were doing now. I shot your little brother’s 243 and hit the biggest doe you’ve ever seen, and I was the first girl you ever brought to your ranch. You taught me so many things in just two months. And then took it all back.
You weren’t normally selfless, but you were for me. You sat on the top of the chair back while you drove the boat so I could sit in between your legs, because I was cold.
You made me try new things because you knew how they made you feel and that they’d do the same for me.
You would make fun of my flaws, because to you they weren’t flaws. They were everything you loved about me. And even though I acted mad, I knew how you secretly thought.
All of your fraternity brothers knew who I was, because you often brought me up. I thought I was a celebrity. Some were even nervous to be caught speaking to me…it’s not news that you can be a little jealous and quick to act. With your fists.
I taught you things, too. I taught you how fun it is to be wrong. How much fun it can be to laugh at yourself. And I in turn learned how much I loved laughing at you, and with you. Especially when I informed you of the correct way to pronounce “foliage.”
All of your favorites are now mine. I love your favorite songs. Late at night I still think about all the scenes in my head that made ‘us’ and ‘you’ so perfect to me. No one has ever let me sing at the top of my lungs to them while sitting at a stoplight. And it probably won’t ever happen again – I sound like a chicken getting strangled. Slowly.
Nothing phased you. And I don’t think anything scared you, either. When I was with you, nothing mattered more than you. I missed mandatory classes and meetings just at the mere thought of spending an evening or any segment of time with you. I planned my weekends around you, and welcomed a call from you at any time of day.
I spent every single day with you, and didn’t care who saw me walking out of the Fiji house at 9am. Because they knew.
But…as all good things dissipate, we did too. The ‘idea’ became the ‘obligation’ and things quickly became more serious. You jumped ship. You left everything we had to sink into a string of memories leading to awkward run-ins and late night drunk dials to each other that even now, four months later, still happen on occasion. And you showed me how good of a liar you can be. Even with the most coaxing from friends, I still can’t decide if I think you treated me right, those four long months ago.
I’ve never met anyone like you, and I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. In two months you taught me how to love, but how to hurt so badly that any love I had learned was lost. And for some reason I still text you, knowing I’ll receive no reply, and check the phone repeatedly in pity.
But things haven’t changed. You still don’t answer, and I’m still the same girl hoping that one day, after everything, things will go back to how they were at one time, when everything was so much more beautiful. A time when life truly meant living.