We are starlight: The past come to the future to burn out. I’m coping, but I miss you. I don’t regret telling you I love you. That is the thing I did right with us. That’s how I’ve felt for more than thirty years. The girl in me who crushed on you should have said it long before. Those distant memories are aglow with me watching your hands busy on your guitar, sending music into the air; enchanting me outright. In reality your heartstrings were pulled by another; unrequited. Yet I could not call you mine. Even so, we clicked. In new exploration, we kissed. I remember thinking it a rare moment you didn’t have your guitar in your hands—because you had me in your arms—smiling at being the one you pressed and played; stolen moments in time. But I could not bear being second, so I lied. Convinced you I hated you. Lied to myself and to that other, ‘cause even then I knew myself in love. So you and I lost touch, had separate lives
…And then, in a geek storm of a thousand people, YOU were there. Incredible in armor. Twenty years had passed, yet my nerves trembled like Leia’s when confronted with Han’s affections; overcome…worried about her dirty hands. It took me hours to swallow my excuses and go to you. And it turned out okay! It felt so good to be friends again. I loved your messages. Your friendly banter was so dear! I loved to hear you call me by that goofy, awful nickname. In return, knowing it made you laugh, I’d threaten to blow up your sneakers with my DeathStar, BOOM! Goofiness like we were young again.
More years later; we clicked. Notes sparked the air like fireworks. I’m surprised our cells didn’t melt. You kissed me tasting of sweet coffee, by the water, under starlight, and I couldn’t breathe. You pulled me close; I can still feel your heart beating fast under my cheek, sounding like a drum in your chest. The nights I traveled far away: Artesia Blvd, you called for me, the pull so strong—how close I came to turning around to head down the freeway, and fall into your arms. Seduced on the island, it challenged everything within me not to take you night-swimming and naked into the water. Sitting on the porch, love, with you telling the constellations’ story, I fell for you all over again. When you said you loved me, too, I had to pinch myself. I couldn’t quite believe it. That annoyed you, but trusting you, as I hadn’t trusted anyone in years, I fell anyway. Stardust pulled into your orbit.
We ended almost lovers. There never came time for us to stoke the slow burn, to sink into eachother like the sun sinks into the ocean’s deep embrace. Serenity would be ours had we a sunrise together. Oh my dear one; I would have wept with joy in your arms.
Then it fell apart. Once I was all in, I couldn’t guess you might pull away, undecided. Feeling panicked, I over-chased you shamelessly; and overwhelmed, predictably over-texted. I didn’t know the intimacy would go, that our friendship was subject to the same end. Words fail to describe the loss. Not knowing how to take the pain, I said terrible things. Some I meant. Some I wish I could take back. I could not say enough to hide the pain.
I fell in love with you twice. Not sure how, but I need to fall out. Yet here at the final phase, my hopes are these: May good people and great love find you; may they not be fleeting like Starlight. I’ve learned trying to catch a falling star is impossibly silly, as is trying to keep alive the spark in a man who no longer holds onto me as lover or friend. Feeling so cold, I’m burning out of your orbit now; I’m Stardust adrift, letting go of pieces of you, of memories real, and sleepless nights imagined, with you. I love you. I am so sorry we didn’t have a future. I will never stop being your friend.