Maybe.

It's an odd thing. Darkness is.

You can stare off into the darkness, everything blurry and indistinguishable and yet find everything beautiful. Not because you see it, but because you can feel it. The bite of the wind against your cheeks, the moonlight illuminating the horizon casting a ghostly but gorgeous glow upon his, the warmth of his chest pressed against yours.

I remember thinking that this moment was beautiful. Surreal and something i would search my whole life to feel over and over again. And yet, I did not think you would be there to feel again.

Day by day, night by night, I read your texts, felt your lips and hugged your strong arms tighter around me as I slept and I began to think maybe...

maybe...

Maybe when you said that you could see a life with me

Maybe when you said that you felt comfortable with me in a way you hadn't with anyone before

Maybe when you looked at me with those brown eyes, I could see all that you felt. And although you were scared, I knew you were scared shitless, you were learning to be happy again and that maybe...that was enough

I had been taught lesson after lesson about insincere lovers and detachment of emotion that I could end things with the one whom I had shared by bed with and be okay. I had spent enough nights by myself, wondering why no one loved me but knowing true heartedly that no one loved me not because I couldn't be loved, but because they didn't know how. As they came and left, I was okay because I loved me more than anyone passing through my life.

I said I wouldn't stick around if you had ditched again. Three strikes and you're out.

I knew that if you had once more, I wouldn't have ditched.

Not because I didn't know the worth of my time, but because I could see through your thick skin and into your heart.

Where a little boy sat in the corner, tears streaming down his face, rocking back and forth and promising to himself he would be okay.

His parents loved him, enough.

His friends, the ones who had cut their own lives short, weren't strong, enough.

The girl who stole his privacy and his dignity didn't take, enough.

The girls who once stole pieces of his heart had given back, enough.

That he himself was, enough.

And for me, a girl desperate to fall in love with the world, the pleasures, the beauty, the people in it, saw him more than just enough. He could be all I would need.

The night before he left, I knew he wasn't coming again. I knew this was his third strike that I would ignore it and let him keep swinging.

I baked him cinnamon rolls anyway. Pettily posted it on SC.

I tried not bugging him for as long as possible, keeping the hope inside me that he might show up any second.

When I laid in bed that night, telling him that I was disappointed he didn't show, I failed to do one thing. I failed to let the little boy cry.

I should have known he needed to cry on his own. His mother now had stage four cancer. His friend from high school committed suicide not days before. As an introvert, I should have known he needed to be alone.

But for me, someone fascinated and enthralled by this gorgeous, guarded, traditional, Mexican boy, I realized too late that I wanted to fulfill my curiosity and adornment of him more than he could handle.

And so in the middle of the night he told me he was sorry he had disappointed me, but that I had a piece of his heart.

And so in the day, he told me he needed us to be friends. That he wasn't ready for a full relationship.

And so I put the walls up I had so eagerly buried in the ground around my feet and left. Knowing my heart wasn't worth someone who didn't want me.

But this wasn't him.

This boy had gone through too much to not be honest.

Maybe he did need to be friends.

Maybe he did need to be single.

But he did need, more than anything in this world, someone who wouldn't disappoint him.

And I knew I was strong enough to be that person. I could be his friend. I could be there waiting until he was ready.

He was worth it. And he didn't know it, but I did.

So here I am, typing in my empty apartment, slowly learning not to jump for my phone any time I get a notification, tears streaming down my face as I remember that this boy has been hurt too many times in this world to accept someone who will care for him.

Reading sappy poetry on IG that my fingers twitch to tag him in.

Revisiting the cliff he took me to on a midnight hike where his lips first touched mine. 

My messenger choosing his name to open with every mis-tap.

Wishing he knew what I was thinking, desperate for his voice to tell me what he is

And maybe he won't come back for me when he's ready.

Maybe he meant what he said when he didn't want a relationship. That maybe he just didn't want a relationship

With me.

But the love I have for people, unselfishly flowing from my heart for the first time, makes me feel good. It reminds me that I am a good person.

He did this to me.

He reminded me that I have more to give than what I receive.

That my love given to myself can be endless and unconditional and thus, so can my love to others.

So even if he never comes back, I won't regret these tears.

For they remind me that I am good. I am alive.

Just...

Maybe one day...