It only lasted a month. At the end, late at night, you stared at your drink with disinterest and you mumbled angrily to yourself, “I wanted to fall for you…but I just couldn’t. You’re perfect. We fit. But I just couldn’t force myself to fall.”
I was confused and devastated – how could I possibly feel this much pain in the wake of such an insignificant relationship? Was it the kiss you pressed to the back of my neck in the wee hours of the morning? Was it the way you told me of all the pain you’d endured, about your father, desirous of violence…the man whose name you took, whose legacy you refused? Was it the fact that you pressed your teeth into my collarbone before you kissed me for the first time? Was it your smile, that row of white horses that could conquer an empire? Was it the way you kept smiling and kissing my forehead and saying that I was so, so genuine and real and lovely? I gave you so much – my words, my talents, my flesh. I loved selflessly and only asked for your reciprocity. What made falling so difficult for you?
When you hugged me on the night you left, I didn’t want to let go for fear that I’d forget how you felt. When you descended the stairwell, I kept the door ajar for a long time, hoping you might come back. Life isn’t nearly that cinematic, as it turns out.
The message is no longer in my phone, but I still recall exactly what it said. “Thinking about you like crazy…I don’t know why, but the only thing going through my mind right now is this: I want to give you as much time as you need so I can be the right person for you.” Well…maybe this is the time you’re giving me. But when I saw you with her last night, my stomach turned. I wanted, so much, to be happy for you…but I just couldn’t muster the feeling.
I wanted to share so much more with you. Things will be less complicated later in the year, when you’re on your own, not surrounded by the din of foolish roommates or people who masquerade as friends. I hope we can be alone again and that I might be the flame that comes streaming back into your heart, hot and persistent. Darling, does she craft words for you – sentimental thoughts spun into loving literature? Does she smile at you like you taught her how? Does she balance sweet with bitter in her remarks, always ensuring that she loves you despite her snark?
You said you couldn’t fall for me. I don’t believe you.