Within Time's Cracks

158

i thought your soft rejection would hurt, but no. no. i'd never buried my face in your chest, rested my forehead into the hollows of your neck. i'd never hummed into your skin. i'd never familiarized myself with your body temperature. i'd never slide my fingertips down your arm, admiring its shade, its thickness. i've never held you. i've never let you hold me. i can't imagine the way our bodies would fit into each other. i don't know how quiet you want the room to be, how dark you want it to be. i don't know how far up you want the blanket to cover you.

i don't think i've ever touched your skin, not really. i've only grazed my knuckles against the fabric of your shirt. and even then, i can't be sure.

i don't know you, sweetheart.

i don't know how you wake up. i don't know what your favorite breakfast is. i don't know whether you prefer to be barefoot or not. i don't know whether you're a yawner or an eye-rubber or both. i don't know how clumsily you'd reach for your glasses.

i don't know what you look forward to, each day. i don't know who your fake friends are, and who your real friends are. i don't know who you like, who you hate. who you come to when you need a good laugh, who you come to when you want to spill your rage. i don't know the people who have hurt you, the people who have loved you. i don't know what your life looks like.

so, no. i don't know you.

even if i do know your heart. your fragile, sweet heart. who wants and wants without end. who keeps on beating, even with all of its bruises. your fragile, sweet heart, who you carry with careful pride. who you only let those you trust see.

even though everyone knows you.

because how can they not? your eyes, your lips, your words. the way you hold your shoulders, the way you tighten your jaw. the way you move, the way you stop moving. the softness in your voice, the nervousness in your smile.

everyone knows you. they have to. look at you.

i would say i wish we were closer, but we already are. i've given you the option to have me. you keep on rejecting me. over and over and over and over again. it's the same as before. i'm the same as before. i thought i'd changed. i was wrong.

you don't want me. you can't want me.

i can't hope. not again, not anymore.

i will never be wanted. not by those i want. i'm fine with that. i have to be.

i will leave everyone. it will satisfy me, to be the one doing it, instead of the other way around. i am sick like that, i am vile like that. i will grin as my mother cries, begging for me to stay, wondering where she went wrong, how she could fix this. i will laugh at my brother's disgust, my sister's disapproval. i will mirror my father's stoic face, and it will not be mirroring, because i am him, he is me, in all the ways that count. (we will not have to speak a word. we will not need to.)

you would not like my actions. you will think me as an ungrateful brat. and maybe i am. but i won't regret this. i won't regret anything anymore. i can't afford it. not if i want to be happy.

and i do want that. still.

despite everything.

and i do still think i can be happy. still. despite everything.

so I will continue to learn you, to understand you. i will greet the core of you, but be blind to the rest of you. and vice versa. and we will lie and keep calling it friendship because we're afraid and we're hurt and we're kids. we're afraid and we're hurt and we're kids. and we're trying to help each other.