i’ve never met someone like you before
someone i could look at and say “i love you” without a stutter
i’ve always thought of you as a friend
nothing more and nothing less
(because isn’t this what friends do?)
saturday
9:26 am
you come to me and ask if you could tell me something
and i smile and meet your eyes
and i wait, and wait, and wait—
and you tell me that you really really like me
(i love you a lot)
…
and i say the same thing
(because it’s true—i really love you a lot too)
…
you tell me you’ve dreamed of us
you tell me you like me romantically
you tell me you’ve been thinking about me
and i tell you that i’ve been thinking about you too
you tell me you’ve been awake at ungodly hours in the morning just because you wanted to confess
(and i wonder if this is a joke because who could ever fall in love with me)
you tell me i’m the first person to ever tell you “i love you”
and how you’ve always said it back because you didn’t want to seem mean
(and i don’t know what’s real and what’s not)
3:25 pm
i can’t help but ask you if you were joking earlier
you tell me that no, you weren’t joking
i tell you i never planned on falling in love until after college
you tell me you just wanted to confess because your feelings were distracting
and then i tell you, cliché as ever, that i just don’t want our friendship to change at all
and then you tell me you’re not that butthurt
but then you go on and say that you can feel your heart hurt
and when i ask you on a scale of one to ten how you’re feeling
you tell me 7, 6, 6.5
and all i can really say is sorry
(i’m at a loss for words; there’s nothing i can say that would make you feel better)
3:57 pm
we talk about sexuality and labels
and we spend so much time talking about what we should do, what we want to do—
and i ask what we would do if we met someone in college
and you tell me to just wing it and go with the flow
but i don’t want to start something i can’t finish
(i don’t want to hurt you more than i have to)
4:13 pm
you decide to move on from your feelings and stay as just-friends
and you tell me you feel bad for giving me a sexuality crisis
but i tell you that no, it’s not your fault
and then we talk even more about sexuality and labels
(and we both think that they’re dumb)
and before you forget, you assure me that no one knows of your feelings for me
(i can’t really tell if i’m glad or not)
and then we talk, and talk, and talk—
(and it’s just like we’re friends again)
…
(yet i can’t help but think about what would happen if i end up loving you once you’ve moved on…)
4:38 pm
you send me a picture of a cute cat, laugh and call us feelers
and i feel sorry for both you and me but i laugh and call us whiskers (oh, to be the whiskers on a cat)
(and i think about how i used to tell you “i love you” every day)
…
(and maybe both of us are hurt and coping, but hopefully we’ll be happy one day)
i’ve never met someone like you before
someone i could look at and say “i love you” without a stutter
(but every time i look at you, i wonder if i made the right choice)
i know you said you wanted to move on
but what if i said i didn’t—
would you be upset?
it’s just that it’s been weighing down so heavily on me
my head is clouded with the thought of you
and i’ve just been thinking about what life with you would be like and what we could be like
(and oh, why is the line between just-friends and lovers so disgustingly blurry)
i hate it i hate it i hate it so much it’s unbelievable
but i crave your affection and yet i don’t know if it’s just platonic or romantic or something else
(and what if you’re already over it; are your feelings for me fleeting?)
is it cruel of me to want to spend time with you even after we established that we were moving on?
there’s a rush whenever we speak
something like a river, meandering every-which-way
or maybe more like the sea, crashing into the rocks as it runs on by
when our eyes meet it’s like we share a secret no one else knows
and it’s true; no one else knows any better of what we could have been
(i’m disgusted with myself when i think it’s nice having this thing with you that no one else knows about)
on the subject of touch, you tell me you hate being touched by some people
i can’t describe the feeling i had when you said i’m not on that list
i forget myself sometimes
i forget that my filter stops me from saying weird flirtatious things
i really only say it to test the waters
(and perhaps it is cruel of me, but god, i’m just curious)
you tell me it still pulls at you
but you don’t really want me to stop because you don’t want to feel a distance between us
and then you tell me that although it still pulls, it doesn’t hurt that bad
and then you tell me that your feelings are waning—
(and, oh, isn’t that just ironic)
and it’s all i can do to tell you that that’s good
it’s two days after we said we were gonna move on
you come to me and say you’re going through the five stages of grief
and i meet your eyes
and no, i don’t wait, and wait, and wait—
to tell you that i have too
you ask me why you had to fall in love with me but you tell me it’s not me
but rather because of the feelings and complicated mess we find ourselves in
i ask you, cliché yet again, what are we
and you say that we’re emotionally constipated feelers
you tell me you’re confused
(do you still love me, then?)
and i confess that all i thought about today was you
from the golden hours of morning to the broken hours of night,
everything reminded me of you
the colors that i know are your favorite
the people i walked by that you always talk about
the stack of famous inspirational quotes that i somehow related to our situation
even love songs don’t feel the same anymore—
and you say you keep thinking about me when you wake up, when you go to sleep
i tell you that i couldn’t sleep last night because i was thinking about everything
(all i keep thinking of is you and me and us)
we come to the conclusion that we both hate all of this love stuff
and we question why fate had to put two emotionally constipated people together—
and we can’t go backwards but we don’t really know if we want to go forwards
and we can’t even stay here in the same spot because life doesn’t work like that
and every time i see anything, literally anything at all, i think of you
you tell me you were jealous of someone spending time with me last week
you even let it slip that despite being heartbroken, you still like me
(and oh god, someone please tell us what this means)
our conversation seems to have solved everything and absolutely nothing
(and i still can’t tell if we’re friends or lovers or something in between)
every time i close my eyes
the soft glow of the phone resting on my eyelids
one, two, i open my eyes
hoping to see that you’ve replied
(and when it doesn’t come, i repeat)
a month later, you questioned whether i really like you
(i think i really do, but maybe i just hesitate too much)
you ask if i can see a future for us
but all i can say is that i can never imagine the future no matter how hard i try
and you tell me you’ll wait for me, for when i find out who i am
(i think you’ll be waiting a long time)
sometimes, we would sit in a call together
just listening to soft breaths of air through our mics
(but all i can really hear is the sound of a deep guilt when i realize i might not be cut out for love after all)
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