I wish I could tell you how I always felt about you. I wish you knew. I wish you saw it in my eyes. I wish you knew we could be right. I wish I could tell you.
But I never did.
We were once strangers. I didn't notice you when you entered the room, and by the time I did, I found you intimidating — dead-eyed at the professor, not a care in the world, and from time to time your whole world was on your phone, attention slipping, life flourishing on social media. I wasn't captivated yet but I found you interesting to watch. Teeth pulling at the full pink on your lower lip, hair sleek and shiny like the way the sun sets on mahogany — you caught my attention. You were terrifying and bizarre to me. Maybe it's the awkwardness in me speaking, but that was how I saw you. I wonder what you thought of me the first time you saw me. The first time we talked. The first time we ran into one another a couple blocks from the campus but never acknowledged each other's presence. I wonder.
A few months later, we still didn’t talk much. You always came late to class; only asked if there was an assignment that had to be submitted that you weren’t aware of. Sometimes I nodded, other times I shook my head — whatever answer I gave, you didn’t seem to care. I felt a sort of honor whenever you smiled at me, though. A brief mutter of thanks with that sweet curve of your lips — I began to feel furious because I can never seem to have the guts to befriend you. Even though rumors began to spread that you had odd, questionable friends — I still craved to be a part of that circle. I always go along with the quiet kids. The studious kids. The nerdy kids. The good kids. Your friends, they knew a different kind of fun. A type of fun I did not quite yet understand at the time. Beer, cigarettes, flashing neon lights, the kind of night life some people never wake up from; the kind of life that always burned the brightest — and died out the fastest.
I never understood why, why you. But I don’t think I have to.
We got to know each other better when the big doors to graduation slowly began to rattle. Thesis projects. The hard stuff. Sleepless nights, endless tears, screaming into pillows because nothing seemed to go right. Four of us bundled together — me, you, two other guys I didn’t know but we all seemed to get together in one go. Four losers huddled in a room full of students who seemed to know what they were doing, and we ended up working together even though none of us took school seriously. All misfits, all lost because the brightest kids latched onto one another while the rest feared the near future, all the possibilities. I call myself another loser because it’s true. I was never the smartest. Never the brightest. I did enough to survive; never made the effort to make it to the top, because in the end, does any of it truly matter? I got to know you better, you got to know me better, we even got to know the others better. Losers enjoying the same movies, the same music, the same games; hell, for a bunch of losers all of us seemed to talk about philosophy and god and the universe all the time. You surprised me. The way you joined the conversation, the way you started the conversation, you always sparked interest in everything. You fascinated me. You captivated me. And all I wanted to do was to get to know you better. You gave me hope and made me believe that I can be a part of your inner circle, among your odd, questionable friends.
Night traffic after school somehow got us closer together. We waited it all away on the streets, sitting on the sidewalk, and I had to decline the cigarettes you offered one night right after you said you could see right through me. Curious eyes, observant soul, fiery lover; too much fury and adoration for a world that never plays fair. I said nothing, but you didn’t push. Instead you smiled and it only made me appreciate just how beautiful you are. But I refused to believe that you saw right through me.
Because you never knew. You never knew exactly what I felt, what kind of fury and adoration I had for you.
Or maybe you chose not to speak of it, let alone acknowledge it.
I won’t ever be able to tell now.
But I stayed, and you stayed, the two of us alone on that same dusty, musty sidewalk, letting the breeze of cars and red lights and honks fly by along with the smokescreen breath of your lips. I knew nothing about cigarettes, being the naive, sheltered unknown being that I am, but when I watched you watch the smoke become one with the warm summer air, I thought you looked divine. Crowned with street dust flickering under that lone lamppost, I began to wonder what it would feel like to kiss you. I wondered what it would be like to be a part of your every day life. To talk philosophy and god and the universe alone with you.
You had someone back home. Some guy you can’t let go of, some guy who cheated on you. Some guy who didn’t seem to care what you felt because his feelings were more important than yours. Some guy you claimed you loved. You were broken and I listened. I listened because you needed an ear and because you wanted someone feminine enough to understand, to validate your feelings, to echo back words everyone else disagreed with. You wanted someone to say “Yes, I understand you perfectly,” and you thought that someone would be me. All your friends, all your family, all your siblings, and you chose me. I let myself be that someone for you even though my heart and my brain and my blood and my soul writhed and screamed No, no, and no, he’s an asshole and he cheated on you and he doesn’t give two shits and you should leave him. I let myself drink in half of your burden because I didn’t want you to feel alone. And when you asked if it was wrong to stay when you felt so much love you can barely hold it without falling apart, I only said,
“No. And I can’t blame you. I understand.”
Because I felt it too. Because I could barely hold it myself. And I was falling apart. I wish you saw right through that.
I don’t want you to stay. I don’t understand why it has to be him. I’m here. I care about you. I think of you every day. Leave him and be with me. Leave him and I swear to whoever is out there listening that you wouldn’t feel that pain again.
I didn't know how and why it all happened, but when you said you loved him, that was when I realized I had fallen in love with you.
I wish I could tell you.
Originally posted on Medium on August 28, 2023.
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this is gorgeous. thank you for sharing nic, and PLEASE keep writing. you're very talented!
Nic, this is fucking beautiful. I feel your words in my soul. Holy shit. Thanks for sharing this with the world.