I had resolved to write you off as one of those types. The type that promises but never fulfills, that keeps you waiting but never delivers, the type that disappoints. I’d seen my fair share and I was tired-no, exhausted of them. I keep flying back and forth across the world always expecting it to be different on the other side of the world, but of course it never is. I was resolved to be strong, to be able to say that this was it and I’d be finally to move on without putting you on a pedestal that nobody else could ever reach.
As fate would have it, I came face to face with you as I was rounding the corner by the waffle store. A flash of surprise, recognition, then panic, coursed through my mind simultaneously. For a split second I considered making a run for it. I had already taken a step in that direction but then turned back, for I was simply not capable of taking another step away from you, from the one person that I hadn’t been able to stop dreaming bout. I thanked the heavens for my foresight in doing up my hair, thanked the lord for not yet killing my will to look presentable while making my mid-day lunch run. I kept my composure as you asked if you could make up for standing me up previously, and somehow I kept my voice unwavering as I said you could come over that night. I only noticed how fast my heart was racing as I nodded and nonchalantly walked away. All the way home I couldn’t keep that stupid silly grin off my face.
That night, when you were here, I asked if you noticed we were sitting in the exact same positions on my bed as the day we first met. In the past year, I had forgotten how easy our repertoire was, how absolutely perfect our conversation and laughs flowed. I tried dating in Madison but no one came close to replicating this undeniable magic we could create. At that moment I knew that I still loved you, that I hadn’t managed to stop loving you despite how hard I tried, and maybe in a romance drama set in the mid-1800s it would mean something but apparently not today. In a better state of mind, I would perhaps ask myself if I had any idea what I was jumping back into, but then again, would they call it love if it didn’t drive you crazy?
“Come here,” I said as I lied down on the pillow by you. You were hesitant, halting, and I asked why you were so scared of me. You didn’t want us to do something we’d end up regretting, but aren’t we perhaps a year late for that conversation? I placed my hand on your face, then on the back of your neck, pulling you forward. You moved closer, closer till our lips were an inch apart, with only our breaths colliding. We were still for a moment, and it seemed as though all the heartbreak we had inflicted upon each other was lingering in the space between our lips and to seal them was to say that it had been all worth it and that the impending pain would be ours to willingly bear. When my lips finally met yours, I felt a sense of homecoming. I was back where I had been longing to, afraid to, but needed to.
The following morning I woke up with a start, like that kind of awakening one gets as if remembering someone’s supposed to be in bed with you. Except you’re not, and that sense of grief I had felt a year ago came unwelcomingly back. I had been ready to do more that night, but you wanted to wait till I returned from my trip to Beijing. Was this what my love life boiled down to? The only one I could connect with lives in the one place I couldn’t even legally reside anymore, and instead of moving on I had only managed to reaffirm in my mind how fantastic we were together.
How could two people that were perfect everywhere else be so fucked in the grand context?
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