You asked me what I want for my birthday…
I tried to hide how incredulous that made me, but with every single time you asked me it was just hurtful. Painful. Disgraceful. You’d think for you, but we’re playing this game where this meant everything for me, and nothing to you… so it’s just disgraceful for me.
Disgraceful that I wasted my time with a young beautiful boy that needed my love and protection, my utmost care and affection, and didn’t even understand and know me enough to know exactly what I would like for my birthday.
Makes it almost disgraceful that I didn’t spare any expense even though I was holding back on spending more, because some gifts would’ve meant too much too soon. So I settled for 20 trinkets to celebrate every year I didn’t know you.
I guess it was my fault I love like no other. That I care and pay attention like no other. Each indistinct conversation we’ve ever had, a single hint you’ve ever given, every left you’ve said when you meant right, every time your eyes gloss over things you’d like to have, and your many justifications and dreams.
You kept pestering me every moment I found myself trapped in your presence. I found myself driven to shouting at you at exactly what I want; you. I’d settle for holding hands with you. You’d make me happier with just the way you smile from under your long lashes, curly hair all a mess, or when I wake up next to you. I almost don’t remember what life was like to sleep on my bed alone. I want to share ice cream with you, and wipe away the muck you manage to get on your face like a little child. I want to work on my work, and for you to fail miserably at your DJ software. I want to see you happy.
But all I want is for you to leave me alone now. However much my heart and mind crave completely the opposite. But as luck would have it, we’ll just constantly be in the same room at least twice a week, constantly in conversation whether we want to be or not. Trapped into a life of loving you till it hurts less.
I remember that day in February a few years back, I saw you for the first time. I was mesmerized. You were cute as hell, baby fat and all. But it was like a light about you that drew me in. I’d hold my breath every time we found ourselves in the same conversation, or when your eyes crossed my eyes the next few months. Your perfect nails, your beautiful brown eyes, the curly hair, sigh… they were all good, but not as attractive as your innocence.
I kept telling myself you’ll never be mine, and you were part of a vicious cycle I kept finding myself in every few months; straight boys that were perfectly my type. I keep blaming my upbringing, my faith, my values for keeping me from getting distracted with my endless list of fans and followers. I knew I shouldn’t be having any hopes for even a friendship with you because all roads would lead to me falling for you in the worst way.
But there you were in every turn, every corner, every wall and every road. I couldn’t run away from you, and you got comfortable yourself. There was a companionable silence in the unsaid bonds we were developing. And before I knew it, you and I became we… and I think I fell in love with the idea of that more than I did with you. And then…
then I fell, harder than the fabled angels ever did.
So this is heartbreak huh?
I’ve read about it, seen it in the movies, heard my friends talk about it. Never understood it, but I guess experience is the best educator. It made me want to apologize to all the heartaches I’ve belittled in the years before today.
I guess in a way I got you to thank for the best present ever. You are something I’ll never regret getting, but you are something that will warn me and make me weary of any love I will ever nurture in my heart.