If I could only tell you how..
If I could only tell you how many times I wished that I had
written you, or talked to you. I drove out to your house one
day before leaving and bought for you something from the
bakery. Your father answered the door, you were not home. I
threw out the whipped cream and the pastry on the way home.
I have watched you, and kept track of your progress. I had
struggled to understand what we had. And I have often looked
back on our bedroom antics with a mixture of concern for
bias and awe. The most fantastic thing about us is that
there was never anything wrong with you. You were perfect in
every way for me. I tell myself now that if it had gone on
longer, there would have been imperfections that would have
come out and diluted the entire thing. But looking back now,
you were timeless. We were.
To this day I cannot fully comprehend why it had to end, or
why I fought so hard to make it end. I plotted! Daily I
plotted. I tried to confide in my mother and she arced up
against me, in such a way which only drove me to further
plot. I loved you so much, for whatever that could ever mean
to me. Love is like the measles, it only comes along once
and the older you are when it happens, the worse it is. I
have had my love, and it was you. It is not something that I
miss- being in love. And I know it is something I will never
again achieve and this does not bother me in the slightest.
But you were prematurely hurt for absolutely no reason on
the spectrum that I or you could comprehend. Did you blame
yourself? The worst part is I had no regard for you. I knew
that it had to end with a certain clarity that went beyond
compassion and empathy.
This brings around a stronger point. If there was no reason
that I myself can grasp for ending it, no fatal flaw on your
part, nothing that could have been prevented, then what
would we be like together now? Likely we would fall in the
gutter of rudimentary routine, the same path that has been
travelled by so many people in relationships. But I wonder.
Mostly I wonder about the sex. I wish I had told you more. I
still wish I would tell you now. But will you ever believe
me if I do? Probably not.
The timing is wrong. Even if such a closure (or beginning)
were to be facilitated by my contact with you, what could I
do about it? Nothing, for I have chosen a ….somewhat
lonelier path. But I still wonder, and still think about you.
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