you could think i was dead and i wouldn't be surprised. i wrote this for enrique but its not that specific.
angst
unedited
vote, share and leave lots of comments. i love them and i get very happy.
"Hey!"
You call me with that melodious voice. I smile at the way my name rolls from your tongue. It gives me butterflies. Your lips turn up when you see me smile. Seeing your eyes twinkle is enough to make my day, turn my mood 180.
"This seat taken?"
I shiver and pull my sleeves down, trying to cover the goosebumps on my arms. You are unaware as you sit beside me, your knee pressing against my thigh, your gaze on me. Your arm is hanging behind my chair, brushing against the nape of my neck, so suddenly. You don't do anything. You just watch me so fondly, like I am the whole world; a piece of art for you.
"Bored?"
You appear at the most perfect times. You read me like I am the holiest scripture. You stand there, before me, almost in my reach. Almost. But I am satisfied watching you enact your funniest stories. I am laughing, my stomach hurts. I hear every word, every chuckle, every time you groan. You are laughing, words barely forming. Your hair is like gold under the sun and each freckle on your face visible. Your eyes are like two brilliant sapphire stones.
I am convinced you are holy. Maybe, you're an angel descended just to give me a slice of heaven. Or a forgotten God of a pantheon, enriching my life.
"I am famished! Got something, love?"
I freeze. Love. It's a dangerous word. A risky word. But I am too gone to care. Your smile is infectious as you examine the lunch. You pull me in a hug. You say you love me. I shouldn't hold you to it. It is, of course, because I am your best friend. Because I care for you. Yet I hold on to it, anyway.
"Do you have a partner for the dance? Will you come with me?"
You take the seat in front of me, turning it around, leaning on it. You are confused, I can see it, clear as a day. You could take any girl you wanted to the dance. But then you'd be tied to her – one person. That's not how you live your life. You are an aloof soul with no ties. I should be aware of it.
And yet you've asked me. Of course, I wouldn't hold you back from having your fun. I am your best friend, after all. And that's what friends do, right? Help each other. So, I swallow the feeling of doubt. I say yes in a heartbeat.
"You look pretty, love. So pretty. I—"
I should push you back. You're wasted. You're heartbroken, probably. But you can't talk – that's how intoxicated you are. All you do is hold me by the waist and press me against my bedroom wall. Your lips – they feel so soft, so hot against mine. Your hands aren't rough or calloused, I realize when you use them to pin me there. There's no time for you to explain, but you're shaking like a leaf.
I can push you back. I know you'd listen. I know a sober you would want to be pushed back. I am not who you like.
But I have craved this for long. I am too selfish, too gone, too broken and too much of a coward to say no.
I kiss you back, helping myself to the bottle of tequila throughout the night. I won't remember this tomorrow. Tonight, I'll let myself go with the flow. Tonight, I let the guilt peel off of me like the dress you take off of me.
"I am sorry for that day, love. I was so drunk; I didn't realize I was acting on my physical impulses. I'll never take your benefit. Will never touch you, unless that's what you ask of me."
Liar. You hug me. You wipe my tears. You let me use your coat as a napkin to dry my tears. You hold me close. You pat my waist. How do I believe you don't realize anything? Don't you hear my heart breaking?!
"Love, you don't know what you're asking for! That's not the kind of birthday gifts you ask for!"
You agree eventually. I knew you would. I know you wouldn't deny me. You say you're talking to a girl. But it isn't exclusive. You admitted so. You admit it again, not in words but actions, when you kiss me. That night, and the other, and uncountable ones after that, you are in my bed, under the covers. Your fingers leave marks on my skin, everywhere, you bruise me. Somedays my heart is so erratic I think it'll burst out of my chest.
"We cannot do this anymore, love. I want her to be my girlfriend—I have never felt that way for anyone. I can't do it to her—"
You have changed. You don't listen to anything I have to say. For the first time in my life, you're angry at me. You don't talk to me. When I call you don't turn, when I ring up, you miss it. But I know you aren't busy. You have her. I see you in the town. You hug her and you kiss her and you look at her the way you never did to me. You hold her hand in public. You really have changed. Is it because she's taller? Curvy? Beautiful? Funnier than I was? Your eyes sparkle more than ever. I think I should let it go.
"Congratulations! I am so happy for you both!"
You are there in the group of friends recording my engagement. You are my best friend even though it has been nearly 6 years since high school. And there she is too. I admit defeat confessing it that she's a nice woman. She's sweet and she loves you right. And I do not compare to her. I am not half the woman she is – will never be. So, I'll say I am jealous. I wish you didn't appear here today. With her. Its salt on my wounds. I wish you would let me live this day without reminding me of everything I can't have.
This man on one knee on the ground – he has loved me enough for both of us. I want to be the woman he deserves. I want him to be the center of my attention today. But I hate that I love you. I hate that all I can see is you in your formals, clapping for me.
"I am going to be a FATHER! Can you believe it?! Me a DAD?!"
You almost look like you're back in high school, jumping over a goal you scored. Almost. Your joy is contagious to our other friends. But it makes me stop short. I had hoped I would be happy with my life, be able to tell you that I am having a child. But sharing this joy with you and yet not in the way I had dreamt as a girl is gut wrenching. So, I don't tell you. I keep the news to myself. I won't take away your limelight. But I will also not share my joy with you. Not anymore.
"Well, if this is how it will have to be. Goodbye. But this'll always be your home, love! Our home – all our life we've been here."
You hug me. My husband – the kind man who has loved me despite my emptiness – stands behind you on the airport with our carry bags. I should have done this before. Should have realized I was a coward. And ran away. But now I am leaving, creating a family halfway across the world. A place where I'll not see you. A place from where I'll never be obliged to tell you about my child, or hear about yours being born. Never will have to drive them for play dates. I'll never look into the eyes of the baby you're anticipating and admire the golden wisps or blue hair or the freckles. You'll not be in the hospital, acting surprised because I never broke the news to you.
There will be no more family dinners. I will not cry after them in the bathroom alone.
But you're right. I can fly all the way. I can give all my remaining love and attention to my baby and my partner. But here will be my home. Always. In your arms.
I think you realize that. Or maybe, you don't have to realize it at all. Maybe you have always known. You have called me love, no you whispered it, after a decade and more.
There is nothing I can do as my arms instinctively tighten around you.
Who am I fooling? I don't want to leave you.
But its time. He calls me. It's the last call to board. We have bought a house by the beach in our dream city. Its small with a big backyard. We have a nursery planned too. I'll paint it beautifully. You'll never see it.
As I drop my arms and look up, I see your eyes – twinkling, sparkling and crying. You know everything I never told you. "You're with—? Congratulations..." I shush you. You're smart. I shake your hand for the last time, "Goodbye my home."
"You're leaving home. But my home has deserted me."
You bend to kiss my head, but I am gone. You're perfect but you get late so often. How I wish you had better timing.