It was nearly two years ago when he entered my world. There was no magical chemistry shared, no fairy tale first meeting, it was not a love at first sight moment. It was simple and realistic. He was invited over by his best friend to join us for a meal before I had to fly back home the next day. He was cute and friendly in his boyish charm.
A few days later I accepted a friend request from him. By doing so, I had not expected an adventure to develop. A romance. The emails started out superficial. Surface level. But as time went on, and with each response the emails started to form depth, insight and understanding. Revealing and exposing ourselves. I started to know him. And him me. I started to fall for him. For his dreams, his thoughts, his passions. He became my ultimate crush. I kept this to myself, how silly it was to fall for someone over emails.
It would be a year until I would return. He was true to what I had thought him to be. I was nervous to be around him. He gave me butterflies. We walked down the pier, as I questioned him about his likes, his loves, his dislikes, his dreams. Everything. I wanted to soak him in. I wanted to know all about him. I had not spent enough time with him, let alone time by ourselves. The night before I left, he helped me packed. He gave me a look that I would never forget. Nobody ever looked at me that way. With such desire. Such admiration. Such regret. I wish I could have seen me through his eyes.
I returned home. The emails continued. The friendship deepened. My feelings intensified. It was more than a crush. He was a boy I was madly and deeply in like with.
I returned back two months later. We went on our first date. He took me sailing and then spent the night driving all around the canyons in hopes of satisfying my thirst of seeing a coyote. The night was slowly coming to an end, but neither of us was ready to end it. So rather than entering the hotel driveway, he detours at the very last second and heads down to the beach. We spend the night welcoming the early hours of the morning Talking. Laughing. Making plans to runaway to New York for an adventure.
So that is exactly what we do. We meet up in New York 2 months later. It was the epitome of a cliché chick flick. It was all about jazz clubs, museums, picnics at central park, bookstores, burlesque shows and running around in the rain. It was about ending the nights on the fire escape, drinking cheap wine, smoking, talking, laughing, tender touches, and watching the sky turn from black, to purple to blue and finally going to bed at 7am. Entangled limbs under the white sheets.
I had found a city I was in love with and a boy that had captivated my heart, mind and body. I had not thought it was possible for me to like someone this much. To feel this way. Like my heart will explode. Like I’m on the edge of going crazy if I don’t see him. To crave his touches. To be so desperate for his company. Joy and pure bliss was never suppose to come hand in hand with hurt and misery.
I had just returned from seeing him a few days ago. It wasn’t the same. It had become real for me. I realized he knew me. All aspects of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. And he was still sitting there next to me. He was a genuinely good, simple, tender hearted man with flaws and faults I was clearly aware off. And I was still by his side. I wanted him, with his shortcomings and imperfection. All of him. I had never felt my heart to be so fragile and delicate. There was nothing more in this world that I wanted than for him to ask me to stay. To come back. To runaway with him. To be more than a seasonal fling. To be more than just a summer romance. To be his. A real opportunity to give what we have a chance. But he didn’t. And I wonder if he ever would.