Part 1-September 9, 2013
I just remember the day we met. Why? Well, It was the same day as the first CSA GBM. I was looking forward to this meeting, so I had the date in my calender. Little did I know another meeting , with you, would also take place. So, two things happened on one day, and for the first one, I remembered the date. For the second—that second meeting which came about unforeseen—the date was never forgotten, even now. Ha. It was cute. A boy, a shy boy, asked me about myself. So we talked, exchanged numbers, and talked some more. This is college, my first semester of University, first taste of that freedom we all dream of. No parents to restrict us and what we think is fate. So, me and you, we hung out for the first time a day or so later. I remember seeing you on Instagram, because I forgot what you looked like..ha, and honestly I didn’t think you were as cute as I’d hoped. But I’ll never forget what I saw that made me attracted to you, in a way more than just physical. You stepped in my car, you made an icebreaker comment…and you smiled. That truly million dollar smile. I loved it. It calmed my nerves and it turned into such a great night. We got back to the dorms, took a walk, and sat on a bench…and we just talked. We had just come from a date auction fund-raiser event that night, and you said (in your description read a loud as you were auctioned off) a perfect date would be “anything under the moonlight, as long as I’m with the girl”. Cute. Perfect. Genuine. But of course, I called it corny as everyone else in the audience ‘aww’d’. So, I looked up at the moon and said to you ‘well, we’re under the moonlight, looks like you got your perfect night” and you grinned and said “and I’m with the girl.” Then, we went to WalMart, because I needed some Pop-Tarts. You offered to go with me. You got some McDonalds on the way home, and we sat in the kitchen as I made my PopTarts in the oven due to lack of Toaster. You ate you’re CheeseBurger, even though you’re lactose intolerant lol, and you even took a bite of the terrible PopTart I burnt. We talked til 4 AM, and I fell for you that night.
But, this isn’t a love story. It’s just a story with an ending.
Because no matter how hard I fell for you, I knew, you had a wall and I couldn’t love someone I knew couldn’t love me back. I don’t know how my heart knew to protect itself, but it did. But, as I write that last line, I come to realize that maybe it’s just my mind telling me I wasn’t in as deep as I’d never admit. I didn’t love you, but what happened between us did break my heart. But I didn’t love you. That wasn’t love. It was a passionate mess. You, sir, are a story in yourself. I had to compete with your past, but was consistently losing, since you never put that past behind you. An ex-girlfriend, a best friend you fell for, and me. Ha, this happens in T.V series all the time, and I was the character I’d always hate. But it made me see how unfair it is to all the characters in my place. Lucky for them, it wasn’t real life. Because man, it hurt like hell and heaven and every force in between. You drove me crazy, made me stronger, but also put a permanent guard on my heart and chipped a good bit away at my level of trust in people. I have nothing against you, but one day I just want to ask you what you think of everything we went through. I just want to hear what you have to say.
I’m only going to write about the first night of my story with you. The rest is too much, too chaotic. I want to leave it at the sweetest moment of a hard chapter.
P.S: Hope you’re finding yourself, because a man who doesn’t know himself will continue to hurt every woman who he puts in his path.
I haven’t written in a while. I’ve been to afraid to face my thoughts, because when I write them out, they’re real. My thoughts are now words and there’s no taking them back. Even if I backspace every last letter, they were still once here, out in the open, equaling my admittance to their presence in my mind…making them real and true. But, alas, it is time to face myself ,one-on-one. To pick apart my thoughts and figure out why certain memories are haunting me—to see if they’re reminding me of something I need to reanalyze, or staying as an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia. Time to face them, each individually and see them as such, because the whole is me, and who I am right now…in this very moment. My mind’s trying to figure out how I got here, and where here is. So let me help it, because writing is like spring cleaning for my brain. It organizes, clears the clutter, and puts everything in a visible scope. So, here goes nothing. Time to start. Time to write.
- Me: *sits in towel for 6 months after showering*