Back to my point. I’ve known this guy long enough to know that I’m into
Him. Long enough to know that I want to see what this could turn into. And well enough that I should be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that I have feelings for him. But every time our eyes meet, my heart stops and my mouth goes dry and I can’t make a normal word form with my tongue. I’m petrified that he’ll run. He’ll just disappear into the night, like he has before, that first night. Though that was 75% my fault, I was still afraid of it happening again. This man has been intimate with me and yet I can’t be emotionally honest with him because another heartbreak might just kill me. I love so hard. Too hard. No one has ever matched me on the battlefield. I’ve always fought alone. I have no idea what it’s like to stride confidently into an “I love you” or an “I need you” or even the most basic of an “I like you”. And feel that reciprocated. No idea. No one has ever liked me back on that level. As me. No one has ever truly been in love with me. So as accustomed as I am to rowing in that damned boat alone against the current, this time is different.
I can tell he’s different. That’s what drew me to him the first time we met in that low-lighted lounge, beneath a Mexican restaurant, in the heart of Seattle. He’s intelligent, intensely, intimidatingly intelligent. I could listen to him speak about things I know next-to-nothing about for hours simply because of the way his face lights up as he’s talking. He loves it. So I’d listen. We had enough in common to relate well with each other but so many differences that there was even more room for us to learn from each other. A completely terrifying but enthralling combination for me. I’d never been here before. Most guys just wanna fuck me and then ghost. Most guys aren’t interested in having a deep conversation about, well, anything. So this....This was enchanting and I honestly couldn’t get enough. I would’ve spent every day with him and not gotten bored, even if we just curled up and read separately on our own, I would’ve loved sharing that space of silence with him. As it was, adults have to work and pay bills so we didn’t see each other as often as I wanted. I think both of our past hurts had us relatively keeping each other at arms length. I know, it did for me. I was terrified to trust him. But I felt it happening anyways. Slowly and then all at once. Little things he did caught my attention and made me realize that he was paying attention, he cared, even if it wasn’t like how I expected.
My own emotions took me by surprise. The way they slammed into my chest when he said he’d gotten the job in Dallas, how I was happy he was getting something better, where he’d be appreciated for his talents. I was happy about that. But hadn’t really expected it to take him so far away. My own sadness at not seeing him regularly hit me like a brick wall. I was mad at myself for caring. He’d snuck under my guards and scaled my walls, seemingly without trying, And I hated realizing that I was incredibly disappointed that he was going. That someone else might soon be waking up to him. That someone else would put that slow grin on his face, or make him scoff at their failed jokes, or giggle at one of his. I hated that thought. It made my stomach roll and my heart ache and I knew I had to tell him but I wasn’t sure I could bare my emotions like that. I wasn’t sure I ready to be so vulnerable again.
I tried. I planned it all out in my head. What I’d say. How I’d say it. But once again my heart stopped and my mouth went dry and I looked him in the eyes and couldn’t admit that he meant so much more to me than I let on. Because it was crazy. I felt crazy having let myself fall so far so fast. I always fall so fast. So I let the moment pass and then sent a panicked text that barely revealed my half acknowledged feelings. But it was too late. He had to go. And I had to support it. It was what was best for him. And really, who was I to ask him to stay?
So Wednesday, he is leaving. Tomorrow he is leaving...today. In a few hours. He is leaving and I’m way more upset than I have any right to be. And I should probably take my emotions and shove them deep down and lock them up so tight I’ll forget about them. But I’ve never been good at hiding something once I’ve admitted it to myself. He’s different than any other the guys I’ve been with before. And I’m different with him and I don’t want to be who I was before him anymore.
I want to keep being who I am now. So I’m going to try. And maybe, he’ll want me as I am now. Maybe he’ll miss hearing my giggle as his rambunctious Aussie licks all the makeup, I painstakingly applied, off my face as I lay in bed. Maybe he’ll miss my snoring into the night as he’s trying to get me to stop hogging the bed, but honestly he can’t blame me. He likes it too cold, so I need his body heat to sleep. Maybe he’ll miss me lazily watching him dress for work as I wrap myself in his side of the blanket and snooze for five more minutes. Maybe he’ll miss me blushing from the slightest hint of something sexual in his tone. I know I’ll miss it. I’ll miss him. I already miss him. I don’t know if it’s too soon or too much or too fast but, It’s 12:20am now, on Wednesday morning, and he hasn’t left yet but I already miss him.
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