First of all, to the guys that may still read this...thank you. It really means a lot. I'm a shit for not posting more, but I'm going to try and post even just a tiny little something a lot more frequently.
I'm going to cover a pretty important lesson that's simple but extraordinarily hard to accept: Sometimes things will happen that you will never,
ever fucking understand. My example.
A few months ago, I dated this guy. To this day I couldn't tell you what in the hell-ass happened: he was everything I've always wanted in a guy, we were absolutely crazy about each other, and then one day he stopped talking to me. It's a tiny bit more complicated than that, let me explain.
Let's call him Sean.
Sean was the roommate of one of my best friends who lived only one floor below me in the apartments we stayed at. He'd introduced us once in passing last fall, and after that short introduction he always remembered my name. I'd seen him around campus, always thought, "What a pretty boy," and moved on. Around the apartments, we'd bump into each other in the elevator, he'd cruise by on his bike, and he'd always chirp, "Hey, Diana!" I was taken aback every time too. One, he'd remembered my name. Two, he was so bubbly and adorable. Such a rare combination.
But he was nothing important or special until we'd actually talked. We didn't have any significant interaction until this past February. I threw a devastatingly successful party on February 13th. I hated "Fuck Valentine's Day Parties." Sure, I was single too, but let the lovebirds have their play. So I threw a "Be My Valentine!" Party. It was like the movies. I'd open the door to our room and five guys would walk past me, I knew none of them. Not even getting slightly tipsy that night, I had to run patrol, too many times taking the vodka bottle from inside a boy's jacket as they tried to slip out the door, saying, "Hi, yeah, so you're taking my vodka, and...what's my name?"
"Uhhh...Rachel?"
"Get out."
Amongst the commotion, I saw that Sean and some of his friends were there. Sean was sitting on the kitchen counter. "Hey Diana!" He smiled this nearly obnoxiously charming smile. "Thanks for having me here!"
"Sure, sure," I said absentmindedly, eyeing the boy with the sunglasses who was draining the rum suspiciously. I excused myself, but not before appreciating how very blue Sean's eyes were, off to see what the shattering noise from the bathroom was coming from.
A little later, exhausted, I came across a very drunk Sean swaying slightly on the kitchen counter, laughing with his friends. "This is the first time he's been drunk," one of them snickered quietly into my ear.
Now, I have a phobia of vomit. I have since I was a little girl. It's gotten much, much better, but there was a time when the word "vomit," would begin a panic reaction. It was that bad. It's gotten better, but when I'm caught off guard or in a very stressful situation, the old fight or flight symptoms kick in. As I watched Sean, I was no longer concerned about what shade of cerulean his eyes were, more like, "Oh God, they're a little too unfocused."
"Sean," I panicked, "Are you--are you nauseous? Are you going to throw up? You're NOT going to throw up in my kitchen." He fell against me, and I couldn't help but notice how nice he smelled.
"Diana," his voice sounded heavy with drink, "You...are...so beautiful..." I laughed, genuinely amused, and not in the slight bit convinced of his veracity.
"Sweetheart, call me whatever but you're not going to puke where I eat."
"I...mean it," his eyebrows furrowed with the drunken indignation that came from not being taken seriously. "Get him to a bathroom," I whispered to his slightly less drunk friends.
"Tell me when you're not smashed," I smiled with relief as they half carried him out of the kitchen.
Later, as the party was dying down, Sean was back, not quite as stumbling. "Hey Diana!" he was always so happy. He stumbled. He was also still drunk, but not as bad.
"I...I threw up, but, but it's okay, I feel better now. And not in your kitchen."
"Good," I smiled, able to appreciate his ocean eyes again.
"I lost my keys. I think they're here." I rolled my eyes, but didn't mind helping him. The party had died down after we'd kicked some people out. I lead him to my room where all the jackets were, scanning my tornado-damaged wreck of a room for a glint of metal.
"Hey..." his voice slow with more than just alcohol, "...you like Howl's Moving Castle..."
"Yup," I grunted, shifting my wardrobe to check between cracks.
"And...Oh, God, Final Fantasy..." he said, scanning my long fabric scroll of Cloud from Advent Children with awe.
"Found them!" I cried with relief, not telling him it'd been in a pile of my underwear. Bleary eyed, he smiled at me.
"You're like...a magician...by the way I meant it, when I said you were beautiful..."
In spite of myself, I felt a cherry warmth wash over me. It felt really nice that such a beautiful boy himself thought something like that about me. Okay, a DRUNK beautiful boy, but those words sat very prettily on those lovely lips of his.
I smiled. "Okay, Cassanova, like I said, talk to me when you're sober. You have your keys, you better get to bed, sweetheart," and I lead him to the door where he walked, as if in a trance. Oh, the powers of alcohol.
When I went to go visit my friend a few days later, I bumped into Sean again. "Feeling better?" I queried.
"I was completely fine," he grinned. "I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your party. I wanted to send you a text, but I didn't have your number."
"Yeah...I wanted to check and see if you were okay after your first drunken experience," I smiled, "But didnt have the digits." So of course we exchanged numbers then.
"You don't seem like the kind of person to like anime," he texted me randomly later.
"I'm a nerd. I love it."
"So, let's have an anime marathon sometime :)" he suggested.
It sounded like fun. And I didn't dare to even think it was anything more than simply two people getting to know each other over a common interest. It's something I would have done with any person, any gender....sure, he happened to look like Adonis's younger brother. Sure, he was an absolute sweetheart that was always bubbly and friendly.
SURE my pulse felt like it was on crack anytime I was around him.
But that was beside the point.Luckily, I was busy and didn't have time to ruminate on such things. Thinking too much was always bad for me. My mind became circular, would eat itself, drink its own blood to sustain it. Nothing good ever came from it.
So it was a bit of a surprise to myself when we found each other in my room at 9 pm on some idle Wednesday. "Oh right," I kind of shook my head, blinked several times. "We're going to do this, I hadn't thought about it..." He had come over to watch a movie. An anime film, but I had to watch another film for class. There I was, in pajamas and bedroom slippers that looked like bears feet and he smelled like some Red Carpet Premiere, looking like he'd stepped out of GQ in all black and his blonde hair ruffled to perfection. Guhhh.
"Change of plans," I smiled apologetically, "I need to watch this film....
Dead Ringers...it's about...twin gynecologists who...who share girls and...switch off..." I read the premise to him and laughed sheepishly. "I would not blame you at all if you took a rain check."
"Naw, it's fine," he grinned winsomely, settling in a chair in my room. "I'm here to hang out with you."
And we barely watched the movie. We talked. And talked. About everything. How easy it was to talk to him! The bubble of insecurity popped and I just enjoyed getting to know him. As the layers peeled back, we really got to know each other. He admitted that he was still recovering from a difficult breakup that had been fairly recent. He was mature about it, but I could see it was still raw. Having been there myself, I offered my two cents of encouragement.
It was then I realized how young he felt to me. Not in age necessarily, a year is not a long time, but in experience. Everyone needs to feel pain and joy and hurt and love, and his journey was just beginning. I felt like a lionness teaching a budding cub to hunt. My tail swished. I didn't need to try and be beautiful for him, I just needed to be myself. Frankly, it was a relief.
I glanced at the clock. "FIVE AM!" I choked. His aquarium eyes widened. "Shit," he coughed, "I need to be up for work at...seven!" We locked eyes for a moment. We weren't even close to being done talking.
"I--well, Jesus, go to bed!"
"Yeah, yeah, I--good idea..." he gathered his things and, slightly disoriented, "Goodnight, we'll have to finish this later." and he was out the door.
I sat for a moment in my room, not tired at all. Talks until five am the first time you meet someone....had that even ever happened to me before? How nice that I might be someone who could help point him in the right direction, give him some kind of hope. I could be Yoda. I liked Yoda. Besides, if I squarely donned green ears and gravelly voice, I'd never have to suffer over why I may not be good enough to be Padme.
We wrote each other emails all the next day, texted. We didn't just become fast friends. We became fast
really good friends. As soon as I was back to my room for the night and he was too, he'd come up, sit with me while I "did work" or browsed the internet. I felt no pressure to "win him over," or appear perfect. Not that I do with many guys as it had been a very long time since I'd "been looking" so to speak. But he was the first "new guy" I'd been around in so long, and it made me nervous. At Tech, my groove was pretty deep and set. It was rare that I spent time with any guy who hadn't seen me at my worst. But I felt comfortable around Sean. Pretty, perfect little Sean with the bluebird eyes. It made me feel good about myself.
The very next night we stayed up until three. And then the next. Spending that much time with someone...gets you close. Shit, I knew it was fast, but I was starting to really like this kid. But not like
that. Seriously, not like
that.One night, he popped by my room. It had been a rough day. School was tanking a little, and relationships with other people were leaving me with a spider in my stomach. I felt weak and powerless. So I had been doing what I usually do to cope. I was putting on all my different contacts, seeing which one made me feel fiercest. Like a predator. Like a lionness. (Like a Vampire...) I already had my fake vampire fangs in. I wore them from time to time just around the apartment, loving the way my lips felt over them. Like I could actually tear a throat out. You don't have to be pretty if you can do that.
He startled me as he knocked gently on my open door, announcing his arrival. God, he would think I was a freak. My hands flew to my teeth. I really should take them out, I thought, he'd think you were so weird. Most of my friends thought I was retarded for wearing them around, rolling their eyes or snorting in disgust. I tried not to feel bad about it, but I did.
After all...as much as I may fight it....I am only human.
I decided not to care, it had already been a shitty day, let him think the worst. I shrugged and said in a deadpan, "I'm warning you, I'm in my True Form...and I'm dangerous when I'm like this."
"True form?" he sounded excited, a laugh in his voice. "And what is that, exactly?" he slid into a chair next to me, as I sat at my computer desk. I had my red contacts in. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and turned to him, baring my teeth for a complete, ridiculous effect.
"Vampiiiah..." I hissed, barely stifling a giggle. He shuddered playfully.
"That is scary..." he eyed my seven contacts cases. "Jeez...how many of these do you have?"
"Lots. Wanna see?"
I tried on all my eyes for him. Red, Pink, Purple, Cat Eyes, Gold, very light blue....He thought they were awesome, all of them, and, when I tried to slip my fangs out, suffering a moment of embarrassment, he stopped my hand. "Leave em in," he smiled encouragingly, "they're bad ass."
I don't know when. I don't know when I kind of fell for him. I really didn't want to. He was still in recovery and we were having so much fun together. Over everything. Over nothing. The world was our playground and we were being stupid and silly and having a blast. Shit, we both knew things were moving really fast--friendship wise. No one was really using the "R" word. Relationship.
We went to the mall with his roommate, my friend, and my brother. Even such a silly little trip was the most fun I had experienced in a while. It was fun walking around, doing something I'd never gotten to do as a teen. Giggle through the mall with a hot guy, watching the little eyeliner mall rats follow Sean with moaning eyes of want. On the way back to the car, I offered my arm for him to link with. He grinned and grabbed my hand. I hated how much I liked it. I felt the pull of the lionness. How I wanted to sink into this fantasy. Deep down, I knew this was too quick, too sweet. My insides felt like halting metal. I wasn't used to being so logical. But...I thought to myself as I looked at him on the drive back, his Adonis lips moving noiselessly to the music on the radio, I also wasn't used to being this happy. I hadn't been this happy in a long time.
Logical or not, my true nature (thank God) won over. I would say most of the times I think to myself, "This is a bad idea," I go for it. And, I would have to say, I have never regretted going for it. True, I've been smashed into a wall countless times. But I'm the girl with the bloody face with a grin the size of Kansas, going, "Holy fuck that was great." Later that night, Sean, his roommate and one of my best friends, and I imbibed a bit to say the least. Okay, we got very drunk.
Remember that phobia of vomit? Yeah. Sean had a little too much. My friend (Jesus, let's give him a name) Wallace hadn't taken shots like Sean and I had. Sean lay on the couch, sloppily promising me that he wasn't going to throw up. "Sean," Wallace said calmly, "Don't move. It'll pass."
"Sean, Sean, I'm here for you..." I was curled up on the floor next to him, absolutely terrified. I wanted to be there for him, but any movement from him gave me a heart attack. At one point he lurched, and I lumbered out of the room, crashing into the table, upsetting a chair. Wallace found me outside, in the hall, my knees tucked under my chin. He coaxed me back in and I curled up as far away from Sean as possible, next to the window. "I'm sorry," I squeaked. "I'm--there for you--over...here..."
"T'sokay," he smiled blearily. "Though I wish you were closer."
Some time passed and it was freezing by the window. I was drunkenly swaying in and out of consciousness, but viciously cold. The next thing I knew, I woke up, warm. I felt a gentle warm thrum, and something smelled delicious. Sean was next to me, arm around me. Once again, I hated how much I loved it. I sat up a little. My head had cleared. I nudged him. His eyes popped open. "I feel much better," he said. "I hope you don't mind me coming over here...you seemed cold and I was sure I wasn't going to throw up." I was about to tell him how little I minded (neither of us was certainly sober at that point) when Wallace burst into the room, coming back up from a cigarette break.
"Heyyyyy you guys are awaaaake! I was bored while you guys were passed out so I finished the bottle of rum!" Sean and I giggled as he paraded to his room. We joined him, pulling blankets onto the floor of his room as Wallace collapsed onto his bed, singing broken verses of "Fireflies," a song he absolutely despised. "Jesus, he's drunk," I laughed, still quite tipsy myself. Sean and I settled onto the floor, nestled against each other, an unspoken gesture of forbidden attraction.
"Wallace," Sean suddenly said, "Are you...drunk enough to give me permission...no, order me to kiss her. Is that okay? Can I kiss her?" He turned to me, "Can I kiss--" And I lifted my head up to him, met my lips with his.
Good first kisses are a rarity. This was an extra rarity. It was better than a good kiss. I hadn't realized how much I'd fallen for him until then. There was the simultaneous moan into the other's mouth, the oneness of need and urgency. I wasn't just attracted to him. I really liked him. And....I hadn't realized, until I was forming this human Tesla coil with him how very long it had been since I'd felt that.
"Ahem. Guys. You realize. I'm up here." Wallace leaned over and shined his cell phone light into my face. I hid under the covers. Sean and I had both somehow lost our shirts. You know, one of those things. "Hey there." Wallace grinned.
"Let's...continue this conversation in your room." I whispered to Sean. It was logical, as it was just one door down.
And there, with nothing but the moonlight ribboning through the blinds to witness us, we kissed and confessed and admitted, and it was wonderful. Just kissing. I had never had so much fun just kissing and nothing more. God we were crazy about the other. He was crazy for being so crazy about me! And...neither of us wanted these feelings. His wounds were still raw, I was still so fucked up, didn't love myself enough to let myself potentially love another. But a mutual burst of affection like this wasn't an everyday thing, we knew that. And it was organic, something of its own life that had gripped us whether we liked it or not.
And the kissing was a language and heartbeat of its own.
Oh, the next day. I hate The Next Day. I've never encountered so many Next Days as I have in the past two years. I never used to know what they were. The Next Day being the day after a "forbidden" night, a slightly drunken hook up, a kiss, a confession. A night where a boy lets his guard down, lets himself be a human for a moment and kisses you, likes you, says gumdrop words to you.
The Next Day is when they leave as you're waking up. The Next Day is the only words they say is, "I gotta go." And as they stuff on their shirt, a quick, "Talk to you later." The Next Day is you're lucky if you get a peck on the cheek after an unknown intimacy was explored the night before. The Next Day is they pretend that nothing ever happened, don't want to talk about it, it will ruin your friendship, it's a bad idea.
I realize this makes me sound like some kind of desperate whore, me knowing The Next Day so well. But the truth is, it's just believing words that are like smoke butterflies--beautiful and gone in an instant.
I'm done with Next Days. I had my last few this past May and I refuse to take those arrows anymore. Side rant.
Anyway, this Next Day terrified me. I so wanted his words to be true, wanted to believe him. All day, I gnawed on my lip as my stomach gnawed on my ribcage. I was wrenched between bliss and agony. I knew what was coming. Knew it stone cold. It was too soon. He was drunk. He liked me enough to kiss when inebriated, but didn't want to date. It couldn't happen again. It wasn't me it was him.
Because the truth was, he was too good to be true.
That night, I shuffled into his room, shaking a little. I wanted to never mention the kissing and confessing again and at the same time I was so consumed by it I couldn't think of anything BUT. "You want to talk about it?" He asked gently. God I was grateful. I told him the truth. That as much as I may not want to, I had feelings for him. Pretty strongly too. But I knew he was still healing, still scared of relationships. God, if anyone knew how little he needed to be in a relationship right then, it was me. "And I can't be selfish," I frowned, "you need to do what's best for you. But...I..." I was sitting on the ground, he in a chair. I looked up at him, not wanting to say the words.
"I know..." he said softly, his soft blue gaze killing me. "I...It's too soon. I don't want to fall in love. And looking at you now, those eyes, I want nothing more than to just grab your hands and say, 'Let's do it!' But I could see myself falling hard for you, I don't want that." He shook his head hard, trying to clear it.
"You...so you do...want to date me, I mean, you have feelings for me too...?" I was embarrassed but wanted to hear the words.
"Diana..." his gaze was now steady, a hint of laughter in his voice, "...I plan my day around seeing you. I...did you not just hear what I said? No, your feelings are definitely not...unrequited." He sighed.
"I don't know...maybe this could be good for you," my eyes were shining with hope, "for us...two people who enjoy each other's company...a lot, a lot a lot, enjoying life together. Why not?" I was already in love with the idea. I was thinking of our hands linking, stolen kisses at the movies, waking up together. I couldn't help it.
I could see the twister in his eyes. I stood up, smiling. "Don't worry about it, you need to focus on you..." Lionness, come back. Yoda, take up the stick. Perhaps I was not Padme after all.
"No...no I want to...be with you...just give me a few days. I really need to think about this."
I had never known such hope. No matter what happened...he liked me. He liked me a lot, and I liked him. Walking away, I shook my head, frustrated at the ways of the world. Why couldn't things be simpler? Because then life would be boring. Nothing would be worth fighting for, because there would be no fight for it. I marveled at myself as I skipped to my room. I knew for a fact that I should make sure he didn't get into a relationship, knew that it was bad for him...and, if I was being honest, me as well. But I was stupid happy. I was only full of hope. The truth was, he made me happy. In whatever way he did, there was color in my life again.
Two days passed after the conversation, and I began to settle back into a fight for resignation. An acceptance. I'm not a patient person and waiting on a verdict was more painful than a quick severance. After playing basketball I went to stop by his room. I had debated on changing into clothes that were at least a little more attractive. But I didn't want to doll up just to say hi. It would feel fake, shallow. Let him see the real me, as much as it twisted my gut just the same.
After an evening of me being quiet with thought he finally asked gently, "What's wrong? Something's on your mind...."
"Nothing!" I idiotically knee-jerk reaction answered him, widening my eyes in an effort to convince him.
"Bullshit," he laughed. "Come on. We've talked about nearly everything two people can talk about. It's US. What's going on?"
I was nervous about this whole thing. I told him that. I felt bad and I apologized, knowing these things can't be rushed. Especially because he needed to do what was right for himself. But I really wanted to know for sure what the decision would be soon. And I really hoped his answer would be to give it a shot.
He chewed on his lip for a while before slowly venturing to talk. I was sitting at the foot of his bed, and he at the head. I was quiet, tired, thoughtful. I had settled into a place where anything he said would lay peacefully in my head. I didn't mind the prospect of his most likely "no."
"How...how do you see this going?" He asked tentatively.
"Well," I smiled lazily, "I see us doing what we are doing now. Focusing on work, school, but hanging out spending time the way we do. Playing Final Fantasy together, talking, going out, bowling, just walking around, Jesus, anything, it's always fun...but the next level...well, we would be able to fall asleep together, kiss, wake up together, that...that sounds nice, doesn't it? It wouldn't be serious, there'd be no talk of the future, we'd be living and enjoying the moment. We'd be jumping off a cliff, but together we can build wings. I think so. And we've become such good friends if it didn't work out...well...you know...now I'm just babbling, and I was."
We sat in silence again. I closed my eyes, smiling. God, it was weird, how peaceful I was with all of this. When he spoke it startled me.
"But...will you change? Like, the way you interact with me?" I frowned.
"I'm not that dynamic. I've been me with you the whole time. I don't see how I could change if we got closer."
"But, I mean," he squirmed a little, "like, will you still wear vampire fangs? Those contacts? Still do that really dorky nerd voice when we're playing video games?"
"Yes, yes, you silly goose, that's, unfortunately, all me. And...not changing whether I want to or not."
"I don't know...." He frowned. "You can't fix me. This won't heal me any faster. I don't think I have the capacity to give any emotions." He stared at me sadly. I knew this. It hurt, but I knew this. More than he could know. It's where I had been for a while, and he was right to remind me of this. He was right, what a bad idea for us to try.
"It's okay..." I reassured him, hiding my disappointment the best I could, "I understand. I like you regardless...am crazy about you, I know you might not be able to give back what you get, but that's okay...but you're right, maybe...it's better if..." I trailed off, not wanting to say it.
An even longer silence followed.
Then: "So...how do I say yes?" My eyes darted up to meet Sean's, tentative, bashful, excited.
"What?" I couldn't possibly dare to hope that...
"How...how do I agree to..to give this a shot? Us a shot?" He smiled hesitantly.
"How about 'yes'? 'Yes' is perfect! There is no more beautiful word than 'yes' right now!" The poet within was being gorged with happiness...she was overwhelmed.
"Yes, then." Sean smiled.
That was a surge of happiness that comes rarely in one's life. I treasured it, rode on its wings as I dove next to him, kissed, fell asleep kissing him, woke up kissing him...
People saw my glow from across the room. It was physically impossible to stop smiling. I couldn't eat or sleep I was too excited. I was drunk, I was scared with the power of it. My close friends did not share my happiness. It was too soon, too fast. They rolled their eyes, their absurd, emotional poet-friend getting carried away again. It made me sad, how could something that made me so happy be bad?
I like thinking about the good parts, the happy parts. We spent the night together, just cuddling, every night, woke up kissing. I had never leapt out of bed like that. I was with boundless energy even if I only slept an hour. God, I knew it was absurd, brushed it aside. It wasn't just Sean I was taken with--it was all the possibilities. He'd jump started my hope that there was more outside the black fog of Tech. That there were people that liked my vampire fangs, that were maybe as ridiculous as I.
I like thinking about the good parts...the happy parts. But obviously, this post began with me saying that sometimes things happen that you can never fucking explain and will never know why happened, so bad shit happened. Sean actually became more distant after we began dating. He was not so carelessly expressive of his feelings. As we were about to fall asleep, if our eyes met, instead of gazing stupidly into mine, something flashed, like a poisoned dart, across his pupils, and he'd turn away. The moments of almost-intimacy he shuffled away from.
He wasn't ready. I had known this. I had known it. I had hoped he'd really try, really give it a shot, but it was too soon. It was then that I was reminded how young he was. I felt selfish, and pushed myself to do the right thing.
"Is this what you want?" I asked him one day.
"What are you talking about?" He deadpanned. He was so much colder lately, and it hurt worse than the prospect of not being together at all.
"Us. This." I wagged a finger between us. "I can tell you've been distant...we were closer before we started dating." I sighed.
"I'm sorry..." he said softly, and he looked it. "I'm just scared, you're right...I'm not ready. I didn't really try, did I? I'm not going to let myself get hurt again."
In a thick voice I resigned, "We can't do this then. We can't. You need to be alone. And...I guess I do too."
"You sure?" Sean's eyes were now the color of a winter rain, the ones that sting like needles.
"Yeah..." I choked.
"I had hoped we'd have more months together....I'm sorry....my family, they really wanted to meet you, you were so easy to brag about, to talk about. You..." he groaned mournfully, "...you would have loved me, the real me, the not-broken me...I would have stuffed notes into your pocket, drawn you pictures, held you every day, all day...."
"Stop," I croaked, having to look away from his beautiful face, "You're making it so much worse."
It had been a very short relationship. But it was dynamite, it was the full roar of a forest fire in a geranium pot. It made sense that such a flame couldn't sustain. This isn't the part I don't and never will understand. This part makes sense.
For a few days afterwards, we still talked, still hung out. It was a little difficult, but we were really fighting to get back to where we had been--super close. "We're so important to each other," Sean wrote me, "We'll get it back. That's what's important."
Then one night, the night before my birthday, I got drunk. In celebration, but my pain floated to the surface. Sean made an acerbic comment about seeing his ex, how pissed and hurt it made him. And I was hurt too, saddened. I snapped at him, told him I was sick of it. Apparently I said other things too...Wallace said they weren't bad things, but it was enough to sever whatever Sean and I had left.
He stopped talking to me. Didn't return my apology email. Didn't return any texts. Literally no response. The one time I was in the same room as him, he ignored me, didn't acknowledge me. This was worse than The Next Day. His youth was pounding me in the face. I had never been 100% ignored before. The fact that it was by someone I had shared such a mutual adoration with compounded the confounding.
After about two weeks he sent a haiku, how time had been needed. It wasn't so simple, I told him, one can't just ignore people like that. He promised a rekindling of what we had, assured me we'd fight through this, one or two more emails like that, and then it was completely done. Back to the absolutely no correspondence. No responses, nothing...he slipped away...it was as if we had shared nothing.
I'm one who is tortured by lack of closure. I was the girl who needed an answer to everything, asked "why" to the very gods, asked why impossible things happened. I was the girl who was irreconcilable with anger if my parents said, "Because, it is what it is," when answering why I couldn't go out that Saturday. Therefore, it would logically follow that this sudden drop off of communication, his cutting me out of his life completely accompanied with no explanation, no idea what had happened was agonizing for me.
But, you see, this is life.
There are some things in life that you will never know the answer to. Radical acceptance. And you know what?
That's okay.
Not for a minute does this diminish what we shared. What happened, happened once, and is best and preserved in memory. In that moment of our kissing, of our seven hour talks that could have never ended, that was true passion, true happiness. I don't think he was lying. I think he was young. The young are so flighty. Especially ones with singed wings. He'll heal and grow and know what he wants. I had fun with him. I do wish we could have prolonged the good times of our adventure, but what happened...well, it happened. It's such a waste of time to regret or wish things were different.
It feels great to look back and be able to shake my head, admit that I was crazy about him and shrug and move on. It feels great to collect the memories, sugar sweet, gather them in my arms and throw them into the basket.
Yeah, I have no fucking clue why he stopped talking to me, why I never heard from him again and probably never will. But it's okay. That's life. I moved on a while back. You gotta move on.
At least now I know that there is a happiness to hold out for--think of it...if I can find happiness with some kid who suddenly stops talking to me, what about the one that there is no Next Day. The one without the hurt, the baggage. The one who will make me an omelet, hold my steady gaze falling asleep, loves my vampire fangs?
There's a lot of buzz about the first love, but for God's sake, it's the later loves (if you do it right) that are worth dying for. The ones you begin to get right, the one that, eventually, you get right for good.
That is what's important--not the things that happened, didn't happen, the things that never got explained, that never will be explained...the promises that were broken, the almosts, the maybes, the what ifs....none of that matters.
The future, the possibilities, the cliffs to keep flying and falling off of...
THAT, my friends, is what matters.
