Times I've fallen in love: 2.
The first time was procrastinated, avoided, and denied. He was my best friend and we were separated by exactly 100 miles.
My childhood best friend lived in the house right next to mine, where we would easily send messages to each other by paper plane and spend every hour of the day together. Few understand the inevitability of taking those who are only inches away from us for granted.
The distance of 100 miles grew us together. Phone calls tethered us with consistency and thoughtful discussion.
Average phone calls per month: 23.
One of his favorite lines was: "Saying, 'nothing' is just a cop-out. C'mon tell me." He had a way of making you want to tell him what was on your mind.
We grew together. Ideas and beliefs strengthened, intertwined.
After months and months and months and months, I relented. Complete romantic vulnerability.
Instantly pushed away.
The second time was inevitable, tearful, and lost. He was my outline and we were made out of the same kind of stuff.
I would always wonder what it would be like to meet myself. Would I like her? Could we be friends? My verdict was no. Imagination conjured predictability, battles over influence, and subtle habits clashing. Since my firm conclusion, I put in no further thought of the subject.
Days together confirmed our congruency, including height and shape, restaurant choices, birth order, and a 13 year old brother named Joshua.
However, our similarities extended beyond the physical coincidences. Two hearts brandished little pits that were covered to hide the shame and sadness. Readily recognizing the sight, we took out little shovels to climb in those tunnels, unbury the secrets.
Number of my secrets: 8; number of his: 8.
We tangled ourselves together, passionately, hazardously, like electrical cords with worn plastic coverings and wires poking out like needles. There was nothing like it and I thought I'd never let go.
Then one day he cut a little too deep.
So I ran.
No comments:
Post a Comment