Do you realise that it’s been seven and a half years since
we last see each other? Damn. Has it really been that long? Honestly, I don’t even
remember our last meeting. I do know that I’m terrible at goodbyes so we probably
didn’t have one.
The most accurate measurement of affection, as I always say,
is time. Not how many times you say it. Not even how many times you think you mean it.
And I was never quite sure what this (normal people might call
it feeling) was.
The first year, I cast it aside.
The third year, I toyed about it. I proclaimed myself stupid
and that was it.
The fourth year, you said I could tell you anything. I chose
to believe that you really meant that.
The fifth year, we spent one night just talking and I spent
the next week analysing everything.
The sixth year, you broke my heart and didn’t even know it. It broke some more.
Now at seven and a half year, I know. I have to
underline this simply because it has never happened to me before. I have never
felt anything that’s not fleeting or misguided or both. But then I’d continue on
with my life and one day I find myself looking and there it is, stronger as
ever, never diminishing in its intensity.
military coat & blouse with tipped bows - ASOS, mary jane shoes - Charles & Keith
When I come by these little moments, I fantasise about - perhaps
one day - making a grand confession like the ones in the movies. In movies, the main
character always confesses in a life & death, now-or-never moment: a wedding nuptial, engagement party, you
name it. Never a minute before, not one minute after. There she is ruining someone else's big event and the audience cheer her on. And I thought, well, that’s not a
nice thing to do, to you or her or even myself.
In movies, the other woman is an extra, unworthy of the
kind of sympathy you’d give the main character. So, of course the guy has been
in love with the main character all along. Then, to make her seem less of a homewrecker, they’ll pair the girlfriend off with a secondary male character and everybody thinks it’s a win-win.
In TV, the main character would interrupt when you
say, “I’m going on a date with this girl,” and straightaway go on a “pick
me, choose me, love me” monologue while Snow Patrol plays on the background.
In real life… Well, it’s more or less like this. No monologue, no lingering looks or momentous occasion to speak about. Just this quiet feelings of defeat.
These days, I find myself searching for even the slightest occasion where we could talk without me giving it away. It’s like this tiny bit of
dignity that I want to hold on to, which is silly because I know you know. You’ve
always known. I couldn’t have been more transparent and neither could you. You
are not like that terribly catchy Katy Perry song, the one that got away, but rather,
the one that never was.
I wonder what I’ll think of this in June.
As always, tell me what you make of it. Crossposted on Wattpad