“I almost thought I was gonna be your boo at one point.” I resisted the urge to laugh in his face. One point was years ago, before I moved nearly 3 times, before my parents nasty divorce, when I had the ability to dye my hair damn near any color without worrying about finding a job. Years ago.
I won’t fault him though. I remember the days when our conversations lasted hours. Phone calls like we were back in jr high. Just talking about everything and nothing. Listening to me fall asleep. I won’t deny the fact that I felt we would date too. I thought you would make an amazing boyfriend.
As time went on, I moved on. I didn’t let myself get stuck on you. I had been there before. Done that. I dated someone else. Loved him fiercely but there you were in the background, sending drunk messages telling me how much you loved me. You loved me fiercely. Or so you say you did. You wanted to marry me. I told you let me go.
Countless times you expressed gratitude for my friendship. My ability to ignore your sexual passes made me a wonderful partner in crime I suppose. One minute I’d listen to you vent, the next you would wanted to be the next person I had sex with. I didn’t understand.
You were the second person to call me a beautiful soul. Now that i look back, I wonder if you meant it because I am or just because I never stood up to tell you that you were wrong for putting me in a situation where I had to choose between a boyfriend and a friend.
I love you. I wrote you letters. I wanted you badly. I thought we would date too. But I’m glad we didn’t. You’re not right for me. I’m probably not right for you either.
I trusted you. I trusted. You. You called me your cousin, acting as though you found nothing about me appealing besides my personality. I was cute. A little sister almost. You didn’t ask to touch me. When I told you “no” you kicked me out. Forcing me to walk home. You apologized. Said you’d make it up to me. How do you make that up? I saw your link. Asking me to listen to your music. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So I ignored it.
I trusted you.
I should have known you’d use sex to get what you wanted. I just felt no pressure from you. I thought we had gotten past that point. I called when I needed a place to stay. You were so eager to help but I should have read the look in your eyes better. You touched me without asking. I told you stop. You did. That night I had a nightmare that you had sex with me and I couldn’t get you off me. Reality and fantasy mixed and I woke up confused. You apologized a few days later. I didn’t feel better. He told me that I didn’t have to accept your apology. So I deleted it.
I no longer trust you.
Proud of myself, I asked if she had checked out the link. She said no so easily. She didn’t understand the significance. The years of history between us made for an excuse of carelessness. Or simply, she really didn’t care.
I poured myself out for the world to see. The glass no longer half full or half empty, it’s just half me. She didn’t realize I no longer shared myself with her as I once had. I’ve grown to hold some feelings in, fear of judgment or something like that.
Texting my mom, I told her what happened. Letting my disappointment flow through my fingers. The carelessness hurt more than I had expected. I told her it wasn’t stomach twisting but I still felt it. That I didn’t think people were actually reading, she responded quickly to catch her baby’s broken heart before it touched the ground. “People are reading it and gives a fuck if she doesn’t. Keep writing people will read it.” The jolt I didn’t realize I needed brought life back into me.
Writing eases my stress, self diagnosed anxiety. The carelessness someone had towards my excitement, reminds me that something’s are just meant for me. Not everyone will understand the significance. Others may enjoy them but in the end it is all on me.
Up late, I’m listening to the same song on repeat. I’m listening because it reminds me of you, lyrics and habit. You find a song and replay it until ears bleed and tunes get stuck in heads. I hate it yet here I am, replaying the song as I write. Allowing you to be my muse even with miles between us.
I’m writing to let you know that when you called me a “beautiful soul” and constantly questioned why I didn’t see this; you changed your tune, telling me that you want me to see myself through your eyes. I’m sure you’re not the first to see this brilliance in me but you’re the first to tell me.
I wouldn’t have trusted them. I wouldn’t have given the chance to get into my head, on repeat. Compliments that don’t sit on the surface but sink deep into me, lighting places that haven’t seen any in years. People who says those things want something else. They want your guard down so they can use your energy against you. I’ve been there so I stopped believing them. Especially from boys who’d later ask me for pictures because you know, I’m a sweet person and it would make them happy. Make me special. Make us …something or another.
“I won’t let my guard down for anyone but you” I’ve never trusted an interpretation of who I am but I trust yours. Allowing me to be who I am with room for growth because no one can really define a beautiful soul.
I like to be explored. I want to be explored. He tried to stare into the depths of my soul and searching every part. Even the ones I wanted to cover. They weren’t worthy of the light of others.
He loved everything he had learned about me. He thought I was eccentric, natural, the Eyrkah Badu type. Yoga, tea, chakras. Holistic. Earthy. I danced barefoot, feeling the earth under my toes. Each move smoother than the last until I became a blur of movement, capturing the heart of those who caught a glimpse.
Except, that wasn’t me. I’m an ocean and he explored my goodness. Unable to dive further into my darkness, he floated for hours at the top. He created an image of me I couldn’t live up to. Not that I wanted to.
I’m going to start a series and they’re things I write while riding the subway. They’re rough drafts while I edit other things and live my life.
I like the nights when sleeping together is really just sleeping together. Being reached for when inching away. The warmth of another body that slowly but surely causes you to sweat. Snores light and consistent. The calm energy of another body.
You know, this comes with the type of love that accepts that you’ll drool on their arm all night. Tries to tangle your limbs together but arms and legs will only bend so far. A light sleeper that kisses your cheek as you lie awake, just listening to every breath.
In, out, in, out
Soft breaths that rock you to sleep.
I like the nights where sleeping together means just that.