First and Never Again

Against all my better judgment, I fell. I fell hard, with no hope of breaking that spiral I took. Your smile, your laugh – it meant more to me than I’d ever care to say. I’m a proud creature, stubborn. And I could never put up a front with you. My sarcastic comments sounded weak, my teasing tone too light and hesitant. I hate to be touched – it is with submission and tolerance that we allow another to put their hands on us. I don’t submit. I don't tolerate. And yet I still miss the brush of your hand against mine – the warmth of your body shifted ever so slightly against my own. We admit defeat when we break eye contact. I’ve forgotten the number of staring contests I lost to you. How much of myself did I forget with you? How much of my façade did you erase – destroy?

I hate you.

You made me think – you made me feel. You had me guessing when before I always knew. You shook me on the inside, to a point I fear I will never recover. My world was thrown off. My attitude wasn’t so harsh anymore, my desire to protect myself lessened. I wanted to be open to you. I wanted what I had only pushed away before. And it made no sense. Everything I had come to understand and accept suddenly made no sense. You changed my outlook on myself. I have never been pretty – I will never be pretty – but I have the ability to stop destroying myself on the inside. I don’t have to tell myself that I’m stupid or inadequate, as a means to make the fact that I’m alone more bearable. I’m still alone, but no longer do I blame myself for that. I don’t blame anyone – no one, not even you.

God, I hate you.

But at first I did blame you. You’ve been called every name in the book – every insult I could get my hands on. I flung them all at you. Never to your face. I was hardly able to manage coherent sentences, how could I have said such potentially devastating things? But alone, I would curse you. I would grow utterly disgusted at myself, at what you’d done to me. I would hate you, because it was so much easier than admitting the truth. Far easier than looking at myself in the mirror and admitting that it was not with hate that my eyes found you everyday – certainly not. How could I hate you? What had you done? My pain was my problem, and you would never know. I would never share it. My friends would see a sickening adoration – infatuation. My tears were less obvious. The cold of winter was suddenly a comfort – I wanted any sensation to distract me. Burning, freezing – so long as it got my attention from you.

I lied.

It never did work. My ceiling became utterly interesting, the patterns watched but never seen as I lay awake and simply thought. Thought about you, about what was happening, and about how scared I was of that. Thought about what it would be like if I could just drop my guard and let you see. I always saw rejection. How could I expect anything less? I could only see you pushing me away. I could only see disgust in your eyes. I’d never seen anything less – from anyone. How could it be different now? I’m not strong – I have never been strong. Ice melts, walls break, wire rusts – my defenses were pathetic. Or maybe you were simply the elements needed to destroy them. The correct combination. I’m weak – and now that’s okay. Years after the fact, I’m happy. I’m happy because of what I got to feel. Of what I got to see and breathe and discover. I learned and in ways, you’ve saved me. How cliché. I’m still stupid, I’m still not attractive. I still don’t understand, my world is still a mess. My barriers still exist, I’m still not strong. But that’s okay. I’m okay.

God, I lied.

I’ll live and I’ll grin when I think of that kid back in high school. I’ll laugh when I remember the embarrassing times – the awkward moments. My breath will quicken and slow at the same time when those rare moments come back to me. Your arm around me for the briefest of seconds, your hand at my side, your body against mine for a mere moment – the likes of which I wanted to last forever. Were you worried? Worried that I would grow upset – like I was supposed to? Worried that I would shove you away like I had done to those before? You were always so pleasantly warm – or was I cold? You were always so light, so hesitant. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – have rejected you. And now I wish I had said so. Where would we be now if I weren’t a coward? But I can’t change what I didn’t do. I can’t change the fact that I denied myself all the possibilities in the world. It’s my fault – but it’s yours too. After all, you made me feel that way. You caused this sickness, this desire, this…I still don’t want to say it. But I’m being childish, aren’t I? I never claimed to be an adult – I never promised to be able to stand on my own, even though I have no one to hold me up otherwise.

I love you.

There. Would you be happy? Upset? Confused? I miss you – gods, I miss you. The only greater pain than falling in love with you is realizing that you’ll never know. And even as I type this, my eyes begin to shimmer. I don’t cry – ever. I’m stronger than that. The prickling behind the dark brown is a side-effect of being up so late. But I’m lying again, aren’t I? I’ve done that a lot lately. Lied about the reason I felt sick coming back – lied about my habit of silence. Lied. And I’ll keep lying, until I have a reason to do otherwise. You mean enough to me for that. I’ll deceive the world, and make it seem like I’m fine. I’ll make it seem that I’ve moved on, that you were a stupid crush - which I’ve forgotten. And they’ll believe me – then you’ll be mine, if only in the memory of what you meant – mean – to me. My secret. And as the house grows quiet and darkness sets in – I’ll sit alone with my memories. Memories of blue and blonde, of soft smiles and quiet laughs. And I’ll miss you. And I’ll be okay.

‘Cause I love you – and I’ll never say it again.