i am afraid that all that’s left of you in my heart is pain. like, okay, i gave you a fucking knife and said “please god don’t fucking stab me” and you did. not on purpose, obviously, because you and i loved each other. you loved me like a friend, and i loved you like a friend and then some, which is never a very satisfying combination. so the knife is just stuck there, hanging out. sometimes i like to twist it, if not just for fun, then to still make sure that the pain is still there– like you’re still there, because that’s the special place in my heart that is yours and yours alone. if you aren’t there, i’m missing a piece of me.
despite this, i sometimes wish that i could just… forget you. it’s awful to even type that. like, why the fuck would i want to forget possibly the most important, amazing thing that has even happened to me? that’s hardly logical. stick with me, though, my story gets better.
every time i think of you, about those times that we were so close, and when we held hands and did all of that sentimental shit, i get this feeling in my chest. but it’s not the cute little butterflies that took residence within my ribcage when i met you. no, this is the knife you stuck in there when i fell in love with you, and you couldn’t fall in love with me. it twists just a little bit more, and it instills a kind of pain in me that is indescribable in it’s agony.
but this pain comes in short bursts, right? like a paper cut, or stepping on a lego, repeatedly, consciously. so a very sharp pain. and usually, in those given situations, a nice, short curse word is the choice thing to say. but in these little heart pangs, i don’t utter ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ or anything that is normal, i say “i love him, i love him, i love him” in a hushed tone, as my eyebrows pull together and my fists clench. like i was too afraid to say it to your beautiful fucking face, so i just whisper it to myself as i deal with my self-inflicted aftermath.
maybe i should’ve cut you out of my life when i had the chance. freshman year, when everyone disliked you for some reason or another, i should’ve left you alone. but i couldn’t, because you were my best friend, and we did everything together in that godforsaken school. just the thought of trying to leave you was enough to make me breathless with ache in my chest.
i know you longed for me like i long for you, at one point. i remember the look in your eyes whenever you said my name, the way you ran your thumb along my jawline as you stared into my fucking soul, while you muttered some dumb excuse like, “i’m trying to see what you would look like as an anime character.” i felt your warmth, your light, i felt your soul touch mine, when we sat in contented silence, your head resting against my chest, your sweet scent practically suffocating me but in a romantic way.
and everyone would come up and ask me, “how long have you and xxxxxxx been together?”
to which i would reply “hahahahahahaha” coolly, calmly, even though i felt like i was dying inside. “… i’m not joking. nothing about that was funny.” they would say, “the way that you look at each other is sweet.” i died a little more inside after i corrected them, and sent them on their merry way.
that’s what everyone seemed to tell me, whenever our nonexistent relationship was brought up. the way you looked at me/i looked at you. how i melted when you looked at me, and how you stared when you thought i wasn’t looking. how gentle you were with me.
i remember these things. i know they’re true. i remember, vividly, how often you hugged me, how long it took you to let go.
every time i hear that death cab for cutie song, memories of a slow dance with you swirl around in my mind, under the massive tree in the courtyard by the tennis courts, its barren branches extended protectively over the both of us. another friend looks on jealously. i don’t care; i don’t even see her. all i can feel is your chest pressed against mine, my chin on your shoulder, your arms wrapped around me so tightly, like you’re afraid i’d disappear forever if you let go. i’m not a good dancer; we just swayed from side to side, holding onto each other for dear life.
i wish i could disregard these things as irrelevant, fictitious, but that would hurt too much.
there is nothing that i can do now. it’s too late. now i know there is such a thing as meeting the right person at the wrong time, and by “right person” i mean soulmate or something equivalent because i am just dramatic like that. you are the “right person” for me, i know it. i know i’m verging on cheesy, but i think you’re the only one, and it scares me.
i was too afraid of my feelings to come clean, and i paid the ultimate price.