2 weeks before I turned 12 years old, a skinny little 5-foot-tall, 11-year-old blond boy with a bowl-cut walked into my life. He was extremely awkward. My friends all decided to pick on him. But I know how awful it is to be bullied...I had to leave my school once because of it. So my friends all left me for not joining in, and I guess that's how I became friends with that little bowl-cut boy. He was extremely awkward. But hey, I was too. What they failed to see is that he was also very talented and kind.
That little boy turns sixteen in 6 days. He is now 6 feet tall and his bowl cut days are long gone, but sometimes when I look at him, I still see that same little 11 year old. We still laugh at some of the same jokes we laughed at in middle school. We still sing stupid songs and split snacks like we did in middle school. We still know all the people that bullied us in middle school, and still do all the same things that they bullied us over. We have grown to be pretty close friends. He has been my classmate, teammate, shoulder to lean on, and faithful friend for almost 5 years. And I fall for him a little more each day, just like I did in middle school. He doesn't have a clue.
Moving on doesn't have to mean forgetting or pretending it didn't happen.
It did happen.
But it's time for me to accept that our paths aren't meant to cross again.
And moving on doesn't mean that I can't think about you sometimes, and think about how it used to be.
But it means that those memories are in the past, not hopes for the future.
And lastly, moving on doesn't mean that a part of me won't always love you.
But it means that I can start a new chapter in my life where I'm the main character, not you.
i was on the bus, head on your shoulder, hands on your lap. it was the end of a long day at work and all i wanted to do was to sleep. your fingers started tracing outlines at the back of my hand.
you checked if i was awake.
i pretended to be asleep.
i then realised that those outlines werent just random strokes, they were letters. words.
"hello," you wrote.
a few letters here and there that i couldnt string, and then it hit me -
"ich liebe dich"
It ended. I suggested we go until it ended, and he accepted. He told me it reached it's expiration date, like I was a sour gallon of milk. He switched to orange juice the next week.
We met at a funeral. Not the most romantic place for a chance meeting but I was there accompanying my mom while you tagged along with yours. The deceased was my mom's former office mate, and she was your mom's friend from college.
I'm not sure what drew us together but there we were, mourning someone we both barely knew. As I consoled my mom, I noticed you looking my way, giving the same look of desperation to get out of this place as I had. I remember giving you a smile, and the rest they say is history.
Fast forward to now, as we try to build our lives together.
It's strange how it had to take someome to pass away for us to find each other. But that's the funny thing about death: It reminds us to live.
I met a boy. I mean not really a boy, 18 years of age, about 5'7, gorgeous oceanic eyes, a smile to die for. He has this sparkle in his eyes and when he smiles his cheeks go up and his eyes wrinkle just a little bit. I
n August, we were just acquaintances. But then a bond formed. We were inseperable. It's strange because in the broader perspective, we have absolutely nothing in common. We were close and we got a long, we laughed and we cuddled. People asked us if we were dating almost everyday and he would just smile and shake is head and respond with, "No, she's my best friend." Nobody bought it though. Not even me.
He went 18 years without ever being kissed, and on the night of his last day of being a child, at the strike of 12, I kissed him. His first kiss. I could feel his heart beating rapidly against my hand. I pulled away and his eyes were still closed like he was trying to savor the moment. If it was possible to get any closer, it happened after that kiss.
Things were fantastic. But, like any happy story, tragedy struck. My grandmother passed away, quite suddenly. I found out in school and my mother had to come get my little sister and I. I wasn't allowed to drive home because I was in hysterics. I told the counselor to give my keys to him, and she called him immediatly. Somehow there was a misscommunication, and he just followed us home instead of waiting until after school. He had no idea what was going on, but a look of panic was stuck on his face. When we arrived at the house and he realized what was going on he held me and didn't let go. At one point we ended up in my room and I was laying down on my bed crying and he was playing with my hair and when I finally looked up at him and caught my breath, I saw the most unforgettable sight. Tears were streaming down his eyes. I asked him why he was crying and slowly wiped away the tears and he said he hates seeing me in pain. A week after the death, my father had his 52nd birthday. My mom thought that this family needed something to be happy about so she threw a huge party. In the middle of the shindig I was overcome my sadness of the loss and walked out of my house to sit outside. I didn't notice he followed me. He threw his arm around me and again held me as I cried. He told me that it was okay to cry and that I was so strong. As the tears calmed down we heard a song start to play. It was a song from one of my favorite movies and just hearing it made me smile. He grabbed my hand and asked me to dance. He held me as we swayed back and forth and asked me to sing the song to him. He wiped away my tears and kissed my forhead. As the song came to a stop I hugged him tight. I told him I loved him. That I was so happy to have him. I went in to kiss his cheek but he moved his head and our lips collided. It contained the fireworks that people talk about. The mix of love and sadness, the fiery of friendship. He asked me to be his girlfriend on May 5th. Not even a month and I can see a future with him. He talks about getting married and having kids. He talks about an Us instead of a him. I'm so grateful to be blessed with him.
I think the scariest realisation I've had in the past few months is that I've never been in love. I'm almost 23 years old and I've had two very serious relationships, neither of which have resulted in what I now believe to be real love in the romantic sense. And I don't mean I haven't loved them. Because I genuinely have. I have loved them the only way I've known how. With a level head. And something tells me that being in love is nothing like that. Yes, that sounds idealistic but it's how I feel. Maybe it's because I never let myself feel vulnerable in either of those relationships. I knew how much they cared about me and I felt safe. And I admit that love is more than the chase, it's more than feeling safe because you know the other person cares more than you do. But still, in both situations, I was the one who made the final call to be done. ANd there's something to be said about that. Because a person in love doesn't ever want to let go, no matter how hard it is.