Saturday, February 9, 2013
my love for you
ph: Alexandra Hawley
It’s been one year. I mean, I guess it has. I can’t pinpoint when I fell in love with you. It wasn’t when we first started talking last summer. It wasn’t by the end of last year, I was already in a different relationship. But it happened sometime. I started to love you. I still love you. I don’t know why.
We’ve never met. I started talking to you randomly after a mass-chat ended. It was just us and we talked until like four in the morning. The next day? Same thing. It became a common occurrence. We’d talk all night, when our other friends would ask us why we weren’t on Skype with the group of people, they would know. They just stopped asking after a while.
Whenever it was we finally decided to fess up to the slow, building feelings we had both been having, it was liberating. But entrapping at the same time. Pretty soon after we ended up “together.” Even though we never wanted to call it that. 1,500 miles between us was enough for us to not want to be “dating.” Neither of us would want to do the long distance thing.
I went to school a month before you did. Before I left I tried to make things easier. Stop talking as much. Stop being on Skype all the time with you. But it just… Well, it worked a bit. But it saw fit to rip how I felt to shreds. I just wanted to keep on being with you, fuck talking to other people, fuck college. I just wanted to spend all the time I could talking with you.
Being at college has been a haze of things. Orientation and classes, hanging out with the new people I’ve met until late hours, smoking at night with a few people, then going to bed and restarting it all the next day. I’ve been busy and we haven’t talked a lot. Sure. I’ve called. We’ve talked some. And every time I feel the same, I don’t want to stop. I don’t care if it’s silence. You’re still there. And then I’ll finally hang up to go back to my life here.
When I hang out with people I feel like I could be happy with them. I am while I am with them. And then in the darkness before I end up falling asleep there’s some sort of guilt. Why am I bothering spending time thinking about them, when I should be thinking about you? You’re the one I love. I can’t hide those feelings. But you’re too damn far away, and you’ve not been the best one in this whole “managing some form of relationship that is long distance thing.”
You called me a week after I had been at college and said “We need to talk.” And we just talked about inconsequential things. I had homework to get to. But when I said I needed to go, you blurted out “Are we like… actually dating?” There. The point of you calling me. The way you said it let me know, you had something to tell me. But it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. It wasn’t something you wanted to tell. I answered no. You didn’t have to tell me anything.
You asked me what would happen if we found other people we had feelings for. I said if it happened to you, you just needed to tell me and I’d let you go. As if it would be that easy. I said it because if it had happened to me I’d want you to be able to be okay with it, I guess. Then you asked about hooking up with someone. That was harder. I told you it’d be okay. Because if I had hooked up with someone because we “weren’t dating” and the fact that you were 1,500 miles away, I’d still want you to love me. I value you too much.
I asked you who you had hooked up with.
You told me it was some guy at camp you hadn’t seen in years. And you didn’t even know how it happened. And you asked me if we were still okay. If I hated you.
Of course I didn’t. I had told you we weren’t dating. I had told you I’d be okay with it. But I don’t even know. As soon as you had fessed up… It fucked me up. I started spending more time with people here and not talking to you. When we talked earlier it felt good. But you talked about a party you had just gotten back from.
You told me that there were others you could go to, but you weren’t ‘cause your roommate wanted you to walk her back. So you had agreed. My fear of you hooking up with someone. Of finding someone. Of anything like that hit me like a brick. You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger. You could do anything you wanted with a guy, tell me, and I’d be a bit pissed. But I’d be held back by my love for you.
I can’t even think about these people down here that I could be with. That would be better for my to be with. I can’t think about it because it makes me think of you and how much I would hate myself for finding someone else and hurting you. I hate being the emo kid of the century, but I don’t have anything to hide from this with. I don’t have a bottle to hole up in, I don’t have anything to make me forget for a night.
So I wanted to do something to organize my thoughts. I picked this. Writing.