I wrote this back in December 2011. I’ve just refreshed it a little.
I imagined you liked me as well – but conversations we have had since then have indicated otherwise. I imagined you couldn’t keep your eyes off me. I imagined you flirted with me. I imagined there was a spark.
I couldn’t stop wanting to touch you and when you lay on my legs I had butterflies while your hair was tickling my shins.
You told me later you didn’t really notice me at first; I was quiet and didn’t talk much. But at the end I was drunk and got bold. I asked for your number and you gave it to me. I decided from that moment you would be mine.
We texted back and forth; I liked our rapport.
I imagined a life with you – cuddles, shower talks on the floor. We would get drunk and share all our stories. You would tell me all your secrets and I would trust you. You would be someone I could love. I imagined one day we’d travel together, have kids, get married.
I thought about all these things.
We hadn’t even been on our first date yet.
You don’t know these things.
I never told you.
We started dating. I spoke about you to a friend – I told her I didn’t really like you, but I would “textbook romance” you as an experiment.
That was a lie.
I was embarrassed to admit I had actually fallen for a boy. I had been single for so long and was adept at pretending I was happy. I had always wanted people to think that I was strong and if people knew how miserable I was, how hard it was to get through life from time to time, they wouldn’t be friends with me.
I fooled you into thinking I was a happy, normal, functioning human being.
But I wasn’t.
The first time you experienced me – the real and crazy, sad and miserable me – you were shocked. I thought I would lose you. I loved you so much. I had come to rely on you for my happiness.
I cried for so long – soul-wrenching tears that exploded from the black hole inside me. I cried not for just for thinking I had lost you, I cried for myself, for all the pain inside. For all the loathing.
It didn’t last though and we moved in together. The day you agreed I was over the moon – we would be together forever! You really wanted to be with me.
You wanted to be with me!
You had accepted me. You had seen the crazy but yet you stuck around. Even when I tried to manipulate you. Even when I tried to push you away.
You didn’t leave.
I thought: he must really love me. No one else has ever stuck around; no one else could put up with it.
I would be ecstatic in your company, but in a matter of seconds I could hate you. I could hate you so bad and hurt so hard that my heart would feel as though it would shatter into a million pieces.
How does one let a person have so much power over their self?
You never showed me your emotions, not even when drunk. I constantly wondered how you felt about me, I was constantly unsure. Always teetering on the edge of trying to seem blasé about the uncertainty or demanding you express yourself to me.
Did you love me?
Did you want to be with me?
Did you even care?
Would I ever be able to break your heart? Or could I ever make you so happy that you felt your face would split from the huge smile on your face?
I would lie with you in bed and touch your cheeks. Run my hands through your hair and trail my finger along your brow. I would look into your eyes and feel your body wrapped around mine.
My heart would try to beat out of my chest.
You are so beautiful.
Your skin is so soft.
Your body is perfect.
I loved to watch the mole on your bum and the cute way you squirmed when I touched your feet. The way you would wrinkle so easily in the shower.
You are my best friend.
But then I left.
And now I’ve lost you forever.