LGBT Oneshots ✅

Dear You

Love is the only thing that matters.

It's what we're taught from the very beginning, before we even understand what the word means, and all those other things, the small and the big problems, are nothing in the face of that. As long as you have love, you can overcome everything.

I remember my mother reading me fairytales, the nice ones where every curse and villain is thwarted by true love's kiss, and happy ever after is the only possible ending. I remember my father sitting me on the high chair in the kitchen and whispering that the secret ingredient in all of his cakes was love. And I remember my parents, laughing and dancing in the candlelight, when the power was cut off and we were so behind on the bills. Because none of that mattered, not when we had each other.

We were never wealthy but we were rich, and I remember that most of it all.

Everything seemed so simple when I was younger. I was going to marry the boy who lived down the road, I was going to go to the moon and I only ever cried when I watched Bambi or The Lion King. Those are the years I miss the most, the ones I wish I could go back to, because everything changed when mum got sick.

God knows I loved her fiercely, that my father would have given anything for her to be well again, and it still wasn't enough to save her. I watched her grow pale and thin, weak smiles and tired eyes a mockery of the woman I'd once known, and I knew then that I'd lose her. I could see it in my father's hunched shoulders, the quiet visits from our relatives, the way our house, once lively, seemed to shrink in on itself.

And, for once, love didn't work.

Her funeral was held on a Tuesday. It was sunny, the height of summer, but no one was smiling. My clothes were too stiff, my shoes new and unbroken, and my mother didn't hug me and surround me with the scent of her perfume. She just laid there, eyes closed, and something broke inside me. That was the moment I grew up, when I stopped believing in fairytales and magic and love because where were they when I needed them?

I missed her but, while my world was collapsing, life went on.

For the longest time, my father and I just survived. We went through the motions but he never baked or danced in the dark again and there were some things in the house we couldn't bear to touch. Even as the empty bottles piled up and my father flew into a desperate rage, he'd stop and stare at the half-finished knitting on the side and he'd break down and cry.

And then there came you.

Your laugh was the first thing I heard, your head thrown back and your smile so wide, and I couldn't help but notice and wonder how that felt. Suddenly, you were everywhere, loud and happy and such an infectious presence that I got caught up in it. I didn't plan to know you but it happened anyway.

You'd talk me into things and I'd go along with them. There was that ill thought-out birthday party where I vomited three times and you held my hair and rubbed my back, that spontaneous trip to Majorca and the kiss that took me by surprise. Maybe, if I'd believed in love, that night would've ended differently but I pushed you away, told you I wasn't worth it, and I left with the taste of you on my lips.

That night plagued me for so long.

You were the best friend I'd ever had and I couldn't afford to lose you, not over something as stupid as this. I tried to convince you, giving you a million and one reasons why I wasn't right for someone as good and as pure as you but you ignored them all. When the others pointed out my flaws, of which there were many, and when I told you I wouldn't fall in love, you still refused to give up on me. You believed in me more than anyone had, even myself.

The first few months were the hard ones. You could never have known the extent of my insecurity or how firmly I thought I didn't deserve you and you spent countless hours reassuring me you weren't going to leave. Even then, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for my personality to no longer endear you or for you to simply realise you didn't love me anymore. It didn't happen. And slowly, so slowly, I let myself believe that I could keep you, despite everything, and have my own happy ending.

But happily ever afters don't exist.

You tire of me, of my reticence and self-consciousness, and the arguments get louder and longer. I watch you storm out over the smallest things, knowing you're unhappy, and I, even though I see our end, would still take this over not having you at all. But it's not my choice to make and I come home one day to find the house empty, bare of your possessions, and so cold without your liveliness to fill it.

Four years ago, before I'd met you, I think this would destroy me. In the here and now, I understand. I'm the broken one you romanticised, the one you thought you could fix, but real life doesn't work like that. You can't fix me, that's something only I can do.

Maybe this is the end of us, maybe this is where our story finishes, and, if it is, I need you to know one thing. I never loved myself but you, God, you I loved so much.