Three years later, a part of me would still consider your consolation prize of friendship, or being your spare tire, or even your whatever it was we would have called that stretched silence in our curt messages brimming with sad anger because we were sad, we were angry, and we didn’t know what the fuck we should do but we needed to keep in touch still.
The other part would ask, is that love? Because the other part knows what others would say and they would say, no. But, I would tell her, it certainly feels that way. Then she would ask again, is that the kind of love you want?
No. No. No, right? I should focus on all the bad things that we brought out in each other. The threats, me going to class with glassy eyes, you crying in your car by the side of the road, us and our shared psychosis–god, even now, I don’t want to call it that. Everything was real, you know? Your stories were real to me. I truly believed you. The stories are still real right now, deep down I know that’s what I believe, even if my other part is again hounding me with questions, scolding me that this is another reason why I wasn’t good for you, or maybe why you weren’t good for me, I was being too naive, too gullible yadidadida.
I got too comfortable in that cocoon I shared with you. I was living out of time. All that mattered was your lips, you know? Those songs, those silly songs that talk about not forgetting the taste of another person’s lips? It’s frustrating that something so generic can be so piercing. But goddamn it, you’re still the only person that comes to mind, three fucking years later, in each and every lousy song. How can you not be when you were such the perfect transience? Do you remember the way you carried me in your arms in jest? Do you remember how many inches our faces were from each other? Were you aware you were smirking? The corner of your mouth slightly curling up, like all the fanfiction we have written, that brought us to that little room of the city, all the way from your desert and from my island? Do you know that I felt so awkward that I just went in for that kiss we both knew was coming? Do you know how soft, how tentative, how urgent, the tip of the tongue, sliding against the teeth, sucking, nibbling, peck, sigh, smile, and again, rush, slow, but everything happening in under a minute, how, how–
How can you forget something like your dream finally coming true?