2. the moment i fell in love
Posted March 25, 2014on:
Across the vastness of eternity, a whisper reached me and woke me from nothingness…
It called me into being, and threw me into the presence of the sun.
I saw the changing of the seasons, I saw the ocean, I saw the moon and stars at night;
I saw smiles on faces around me, I saw tears, and everything else in between.
And yet, in all those years, I waited not for those wonderful things.
I wandered in this beautiful and rich world, looking for only one thing:
looking for the author of that whisper which called me into my being.
And so I saw you, and it was you.
You tricked me, you fucking bastard.
I know the exact moment I fell for him.
It was a cold late winter morning, the year I turned 21. I knew it from the way he held me after we both woke up, before we got out of the house for work. We were just friends, I was oblivious to all the possibilities of us as a unit, I was planning to carry out my life in my most agreeable fashion that spring. What we did was, through mutual consent, he moved up to my bed from his sleeping bag on the floor, where he had spent many nights before – ah yes, I was living my life like that, to my liking. I discovered that he held me just the way I’d like to be held – face to face, arms over my shoulders, knees drawn up touching knees, forehead to forehead, nose touching nose. And he said, “Let’s just stay like this, and try to get some sleep.” Though I said nothing, did nothing, and maintained a poker face as he drove me to work, I fell hard, hook, line, sinker, the whole shebang.
Less than two hours later, I logged into my computer at work to see an email waiting for me in my inbox with a subject line reeking of rejection. Yeah you read that right, you and me too, say it together now: WTF man. WTF.
Not that I didn’t see it coming, because we made each other’s acquaintance over a big dose of his drama. He ended up spending the night at my house because of his drama, and this crazy beast of a drama never reared its ugly head while we teased each other or talked about random things or shared a meal every other day. But it came out as soon as we caught ourselves up against the blurred line between good comfortable friends and no longer friends because it feels way too comfortable that it’s kinda uncomfortable. So there I was, that 21 year old me with bright eyes and hopeful heart, sitting at work during my break, reading this email that begins with “sorry…” and not knowing where to put this heavy mass of air that was pressing down harder and harder on my chest, turning my legs into jelly, making my hands shake and my eyes sting. To an email like that, in light of my newly blossomed feelings, I could only respond “that’s ok, don’t worry about it, I understand.” That sort of thing. What would you have said? Oh I pity the 21 year old me back then, when she went home that night and shed quiet tears.
Or so I thought she did. It turns out she thought about it the whole day, and then she wasn’t so quiet and understanding anymore. She got mad and got drunk for the first time and raised hell. Because she was faithful to classic dramatic plot lines like that.