I never even told you that I loved you until you were leaving. Literally, hours – no, minutes! – before you were scheduled to hit the road. We had packed up your car until the doors were about to burst open.- pillows and laptop and t-shirts (so.many.t-shirts!) spilling out onto a highway somewhere far away. I was afraid to let myself love you. After all, I knew you’d leave. Everyone always does. And I was okay with that from the start! I thought because it would end before it ever began then that automatically made it okay to not love.
I tried to show you… that you meant more to me than you could ever possibly realize. Stupid cards covered with my chicken scratch scrawl, poor attempts to say all the right things at all the right times (sorry I’m not too good at that) – I even pretended I didn’t like holding hands, either.
And I love to hold hands. Actually, to have my hand held.
The first time you kissed me in front of other people I thought I was dreaming.
I’d come over after a day that I swore was longer than the average 24 hours, sit on your old faded comforter with my spine against the cold wall, and we’d just sit, not needing words and those were some of my happiest times. I’m only sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.
One night you called and it was really really late (you had a game the next day!) and I remember I was at allie’s working on a ridiculous chem lab and I could sense something was wrong.
You should have just told me then. Not done me any favours. Ended it. I’m a big girl. Then it would have been easier, later. Then I would have realized how lucky I had been and stopped running around like a chicken with my head cut off long enough to stop for just a split second and see what really was most important to me. But I refused to. I told myself instead that nothing was happening, that I could not possibly be loving all this because all this was really nothing at all to begin or end with.
And even though you’re gone and I’m right back where I started, I wouldn’t do anything differently. Because now I know that if I push someone away with all my might, they’ll realize how not worth the fight I am, how they should just give in and go in the opposite direction.
But at least now I also know that if I want someone to hold my hand, I have to hold theirs in return. I can’t pretend I don’t want it. I can’t pretend to not love. I can’t say it’s nothing when it’s something. And instead of worrying so much about when they leave, I have to entertain the thought that maybe – just maybe – I can be the determining factor that makes them maybe kind of sort of want to stick around this time.
I loved you.