celui-ci est pour vous
I thought it was endearingly cute when you asked me, "what will you write about me when we break up?" and you quickly add on an "if" just to ease my bipolar tendencies. I knew you knew and I knew.. the latter wasn't necessary and we try our hardest not to build grand expectations though we're pretty grand on mawkish gestures-- we're both smarter than that. But sometimes it's hard not to with you and maybe that's why I'm cracking a smile as I write this memory down.
You say that perhaps it might not even be because we want to be apart and maybe it would be due to unavoidable responsibilities-- because you might have to move somewhere really far away or maybe I would ever just want to move to Africa for a perpetual tan.. there are so many maybe's. And I found it oddly satisfying and sweet to have you ask out loud, "I wonder if you'll just call me another lesson learned, another chapter in your life.." melodramatically and I giggled. My heart fluttered and I wanted to tell it to stop because I didn't think my heart could ever "flutter" again. I don't even like the word "flutter".
And I found it half laughable to be wondering about the end when it's only the beginning. I wanted to be facetious and tell you that I probably wouldn't write about you at all since you had mentioned it. I don't really know if I'll have time, then. Because.. well, I hope I won't have time by then. I hope, I hope, I hope that life will give me more room to live and less space to tend to trivial matters like having to spill my heartache and sorrows on my blog. And I half hope, I half shut my eyes tight when I say that I hope that not only would I have absolutely no time to, but that I would be spending that time with you.
Whether it be at home via Skype because most likely, we'll be studying (and I like that) and/or squeezing in an hour of conversation in between the tiny space of grace that we can share.
But if I have to, or when the time comes-- I guess I can write it down now as a reminder of how you've softened me in ways that I won't, I can't write anything remotely jagged and disheartening. I can't forget how upon asking for the legitimate title, you laughed and told me that you better not wake up the next morning to read "I am so lonely" on my blog. I can't forget how much my stomach hurt when you said how much I would overreact upon you writing about any girl "gently grazing my asshole with her fingertips" and how right after, I felt my heart burst into a million little pieces because I knew you had been patient reading all of my words, the ones not even about you, and how you're still around. I'll definitely touch upon your patience, the endless, generous amount of patience you've had with me. And I'll write about the hours we have spent filling up every space on your bed and how you liked to roll me up into a ball in your sheets. I'll probably write about the way we could have fallen asleep anywhere, in the most unsettling sounding positions and how I will probably miss that the most. I'll write about my moments of silence and the way you could "read my brain waves" and know I was "freaking-out" somehow and how you would tell me "don't". And for once in my life, I'd find a person who would make me believe it-- the over-played little phrase, "everything will be okay".
I'll write about how many "rules" I broke in the beginning-- how many don't's that I did and how you came into my life during a time I didn't want anything to do with well, anything aside from my strict list of priorities. I'll write about how I cried that morning you called and how I cried again when you told me you didn't care about what she or he or they said. And I'll write about how little I believed in romance after my first and last but how I fell in love with the way you were given numerous chances to hold me down under a microscope but instead saw me at my best when I was at my worst. I'll tell them how often you made me laugh, when I had forgotten how to.
I'll write about the first night we met and how I practically power-walked right past you and the look on your face as I, in essence, fell out of breath without taking one while attempting to give you "my life story" in a nutshell.. and how I curled my fingers open and close, digging my nails into the palm of my hand hoping you wouldn't flip the table and walk away. But if you had walked away, it probably wouldn't hurt half as much as you walking away, now. And I'll tell my audience how lovely you were, how much of a gentleman you were, to my curiosity and surprise when you asked to see me again.
And how you walked me to my car that night. And how you'll always walk me to my car thereafter to make sure I get in safe. And how much I slowly recalled my mother's lessons and all the little "you know he's a good boy when"s.. and I'll probably continue this draft later, maybe lessen it so it's not so wordy and seemingly unfinished. (Well I wouldn't want to finish it any time soon, you ass) but I'll probably write about how good of a boy man you were and hopefully still will be (haha).
Anyway.
Guess what?
From here.
