To continue…
‘O’ and I met again the next night. No walks down the Dock this time though. In fact I was a little hesitant about meeting him again because I knew the situation, and I could already feel myself falling for him. Yes, falling for him… As much as every part of me wanted to see his face and that smile, there was also a part of me that didn’t want to. Because continuing to see him would mean falling harder each time, and for what? For October to come around and for him to leave.
I remember reading his text, “I wanna see youuu” and I knew I couldn’t fight with that. I told myself it wouldn’t be a good idea, and even told him too. Of course that didn’t last long, and you can bet your life that I was on my way to meet him around 11pm again, under the Chinese Arch. “Same place in 10?” “Where else?” he replied. For the shortest amount of time, it became our place.
It hadn’t even been 24 hours since we last saw each other but walking over to him and seeing that face under the moonlight and street lights… unreal.
We went straight back to my flat (no, not for that). I showed him my ‘crib’, and made him feel at home. It was also his birthday the next day, or in this case, 45 minutes time. I don’t know if it’s just me, but as a girl, I’ve never been one for making the first move. But for some reason, I had the biggest urge to kiss him. And I was going to. Yes, me… I was going to make the first move. Obviously I was scared to shit that he wouldn’t kiss me back, or he’d pull away, but at the same time, I just had to go for it. Except here’s thing, we were messing around by star fishing on my bed, and lying on top of each other using our entire bodyweight, (don’t ask). Anyway, when it was my turn to lie on him, face first, he turned his head slightly and we locked eyes. Then, before I knew it, he'd pushed me off, but pulled me with my face in his hands towards him and kissed me. Hard.
“You ruined it! I was planning on kissing you at midnight, for your birthday…”
“You were…? Well, there’s another 30 minutes till my birthday, and I know I can’t wait that long.”
After the kissing, we just lay there and reality hit me. Yes I could have this, but my time, or our time was limited. I’ve always been a realist, perhaps even a pessimist at times… unable to just ‘live in the moment’. That’s when I had to be honest, “it’s not just me is it?” - and just with that, he knew exactly what I meant. He shook his head and said no, no it wasn’t just me who felt it. We both said it was crazy and weird, but it really was mutual. It was real.
I lay on top of him and we just looked at each other, smiling, giggling, both completely in shock at what was happening. He looked at me in a way that no one ever has before, and sometimes he wouldn’t stop. I mean, at one point when I came out of my bathroom… it was just the way he was looking at me. His eyes really did sparkle. There were occasions where he’d just hold and stroke my hand, or kiss my nose… the little things. Again we’d lie there in silence, and it was nice. He opened up to me about things, and I did to him too.
I’ll get down to it - things did get a little hot and sweaty let’s say. I couldn’t help myself, he was (is, he’s not dead is he) absolutely beautiful. Inside and out. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to believe that he actually liked me. It was one of those things where it felt too good to be true. It still does when I think back. The way his hands caressed my skin and body (God, I’m cringing writing that…), again, was unlike the way anyone else had ever touched me. Sometimes ever so delicately, other times a little more wild. We didn’t have sex though. We could have. We wanted to. But, we didn’t.
He left in the early hours, he wanted to stay but he had to be up early for uni and it was easier being at his. As soon as he left I couldn’t wait to see him again, though I’d have to wait a few days now as it was his birthday, and he had plans.
We texted over the next few days and I went home. Later the next night (still his birthday), I knew he was out with friends, but I randomly got a call. It was ‘O’. Again, this was unexpected. For someone who was pretty intoxicated, he managed to sound quite sober. He called to say he missed me, told me his feelings, what I meant to him, not to worry about him being out because he only has eyes for me. He’d told his friend(s) about me, and said I was a ‘worldie’… and all the time I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Normally I wouldn’t enjoy drunk phone calls as such, but this was an exception. Plus, don’t they say something about a drunk tongue being an honest one? Either way, I was so grateful to hear that voice. We spoke for almost an hour, until he got home safely. That’s when we said goodnight and we’d talk tomorrow.
That next day I woke to a text to say he felt fragile, and that was only celebration 1 of 3! I mean you’re only 23 once. He asked if he could take me out on the Sunday to a rooftop bar because he wanted to “show me off”. I agreed because unbeknownst to him, I had made a decision that Sunday would be the last time I would see him. So why not go all out and have a fancy date?
Thinking of him drove me crazy all weekend. There was so many things I wanted to do and share with him, but what was the point? Something had to give, and I couldn’t allow myself to fall in love any more than I already was, only to be left brokenhearted. This is why I made the decision that I could no longer see him. So with that, I wrote him a letter, (you wouldn’t believe I’ve seen The Notebook would you?).
I’ve always written letters, whether it be to a friend or a person on death row (yes, you read that right, death row). I am old school, and I write letters. Writing ‘O’’s letter was one of the hardest things I’ve had to write. I’m not sure how, but once I started I couldn’t stop. I poured my heart out. And I was a bit selfish by asking him to rethink his move. I know that’s wrong of me, but I know I’d hate myself a lot more if I didn’t at least try. I wrote the letter because I knew I wouldn’t be able to say any of the things to him in person. At least, not without being a blubbering mess. And while he had already seen me at my worst pretty much, I was not about to let him witness a teary, puffy-eyed and snotty version of me.
I was nothing but honest in the letter. I told him how I felt, though I know he already knew. I told him I was sorry about not being able to see him, because I was. I still am sorry about that. I said that I didn’t want to hold him back, and that I understand why he’s going, because I do. I wished him nothing but luck, success and happiness, because he deserves that - and more. I told him he was incredible, because he is. Truly one of a kind. But I also made myself clear, saying that you have to go after what you want. Though the move is a once in a lifetime experience, I said how love like this usually is too (yes, really… I said that). Writing this post now, and thinking back, I was being a bit inconsiderate. Still, I thanked him for the time he gave me, and for showing me that love really can, and does exist. But more importantly, that it will hit you when you least expect it to. I then said how grateful I was for the opportunity I’ve had get to know him, as brief as it was. To close, I said some cringe things about how if there’s a chance of something making you happy - then you should go for it. I know how much his career means to him, and how much he bloody enjoys what he does. So I knew it was a goodbye letter. They say only the things in life worth regretting are the risks you didn’t take. So I had to write it. I had to let him know, but really know.
It’s safe to say that I felt a mix of emotions when I put that letter in the envelope. But I had to do it, for myself more than anything. As hard as it was to suddenly decide I could no longer see him, it would be nothing compared to when the time for him to move came. I wanted nothing more than to be able to see him, but I know I would have his move in my mind, gnawing away at me.
The next time I saw him I planned to put the letter in his pocket so that he would find it when he got home or something. How typical was it that when I did see him a few days later, he had no coat or any clothing with pockets! Fucking ‘O’.
To be continued…
‘O’ and I met again the next night. No walks down the Dock this time though. In fact I was a little hesitant about meeting him again because I knew the situation, and I could already feel myself falling for him. Yes, falling for him… As much as every part of me wanted to see his face and that smile, there was also a part of me that didn’t want to. Because continuing to see him would mean falling harder each time, and for what? For October to come around and for him to leave.
I remember reading his text, “I wanna see youuu” and I knew I couldn’t fight with that. I told myself it wouldn’t be a good idea, and even told him too. Of course that didn’t last long, and you can bet your life that I was on my way to meet him around 11pm again, under the Chinese Arch. “Same place in 10?” “Where else?” he replied. For the shortest amount of time, it became our place.
It hadn’t even been 24 hours since we last saw each other but walking over to him and seeing that face under the moonlight and street lights… unreal.
We went straight back to my flat (no, not for that). I showed him my ‘crib’, and made him feel at home. It was also his birthday the next day, or in this case, 45 minutes time. I don’t know if it’s just me, but as a girl, I’ve never been one for making the first move. But for some reason, I had the biggest urge to kiss him. And I was going to. Yes, me… I was going to make the first move. Obviously I was scared to shit that he wouldn’t kiss me back, or he’d pull away, but at the same time, I just had to go for it. Except here’s thing, we were messing around by star fishing on my bed, and lying on top of each other using our entire bodyweight, (don’t ask). Anyway, when it was my turn to lie on him, face first, he turned his head slightly and we locked eyes. Then, before I knew it, he'd pushed me off, but pulled me with my face in his hands towards him and kissed me. Hard.
“You ruined it! I was planning on kissing you at midnight, for your birthday…”
“You were…? Well, there’s another 30 minutes till my birthday, and I know I can’t wait that long.”
This is what I mean when I say he was something else.
After the kissing, we just lay there and reality hit me. Yes I could have this, but my time, or our time was limited. I’ve always been a realist, perhaps even a pessimist at times… unable to just ‘live in the moment’. That’s when I had to be honest, “it’s not just me is it?” - and just with that, he knew exactly what I meant. He shook his head and said no, no it wasn’t just me who felt it. We both said it was crazy and weird, but it really was mutual. It was real.
I lay on top of him and we just looked at each other, smiling, giggling, both completely in shock at what was happening. He looked at me in a way that no one ever has before, and sometimes he wouldn’t stop. I mean, at one point when I came out of my bathroom… it was just the way he was looking at me. His eyes really did sparkle. There were occasions where he’d just hold and stroke my hand, or kiss my nose… the little things. Again we’d lie there in silence, and it was nice. He opened up to me about things, and I did to him too.
I’ll get down to it - things did get a little hot and sweaty let’s say. I couldn’t help myself, he was (is, he’s not dead is he) absolutely beautiful. Inside and out. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to believe that he actually liked me. It was one of those things where it felt too good to be true. It still does when I think back. The way his hands caressed my skin and body (God, I’m cringing writing that…), again, was unlike the way anyone else had ever touched me. Sometimes ever so delicately, other times a little more wild. We didn’t have sex though. We could have. We wanted to. But, we didn’t.
He left in the early hours, he wanted to stay but he had to be up early for uni and it was easier being at his. As soon as he left I couldn’t wait to see him again, though I’d have to wait a few days now as it was his birthday, and he had plans.
We texted over the next few days and I went home. Later the next night (still his birthday), I knew he was out with friends, but I randomly got a call. It was ‘O’. Again, this was unexpected. For someone who was pretty intoxicated, he managed to sound quite sober. He called to say he missed me, told me his feelings, what I meant to him, not to worry about him being out because he only has eyes for me. He’d told his friend(s) about me, and said I was a ‘worldie’… and all the time I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Normally I wouldn’t enjoy drunk phone calls as such, but this was an exception. Plus, don’t they say something about a drunk tongue being an honest one? Either way, I was so grateful to hear that voice. We spoke for almost an hour, until he got home safely. That’s when we said goodnight and we’d talk tomorrow.
That next day I woke to a text to say he felt fragile, and that was only celebration 1 of 3! I mean you’re only 23 once. He asked if he could take me out on the Sunday to a rooftop bar because he wanted to “show me off”. I agreed because unbeknownst to him, I had made a decision that Sunday would be the last time I would see him. So why not go all out and have a fancy date?
Thinking of him drove me crazy all weekend. There was so many things I wanted to do and share with him, but what was the point? Something had to give, and I couldn’t allow myself to fall in love any more than I already was, only to be left brokenhearted. This is why I made the decision that I could no longer see him. So with that, I wrote him a letter, (you wouldn’t believe I’ve seen The Notebook would you?).
I’ve always written letters, whether it be to a friend or a person on death row (yes, you read that right, death row). I am old school, and I write letters. Writing ‘O’’s letter was one of the hardest things I’ve had to write. I’m not sure how, but once I started I couldn’t stop. I poured my heart out. And I was a bit selfish by asking him to rethink his move. I know that’s wrong of me, but I know I’d hate myself a lot more if I didn’t at least try. I wrote the letter because I knew I wouldn’t be able to say any of the things to him in person. At least, not without being a blubbering mess. And while he had already seen me at my worst pretty much, I was not about to let him witness a teary, puffy-eyed and snotty version of me.
I was nothing but honest in the letter. I told him how I felt, though I know he already knew. I told him I was sorry about not being able to see him, because I was. I still am sorry about that. I said that I didn’t want to hold him back, and that I understand why he’s going, because I do. I wished him nothing but luck, success and happiness, because he deserves that - and more. I told him he was incredible, because he is. Truly one of a kind. But I also made myself clear, saying that you have to go after what you want. Though the move is a once in a lifetime experience, I said how love like this usually is too (yes, really… I said that). Writing this post now, and thinking back, I was being a bit inconsiderate. Still, I thanked him for the time he gave me, and for showing me that love really can, and does exist. But more importantly, that it will hit you when you least expect it to. I then said how grateful I was for the opportunity I’ve had get to know him, as brief as it was. To close, I said some cringe things about how if there’s a chance of something making you happy - then you should go for it. I know how much his career means to him, and how much he bloody enjoys what he does. So I knew it was a goodbye letter. They say only the things in life worth regretting are the risks you didn’t take. So I had to write it. I had to let him know, but really know.
It’s safe to say that I felt a mix of emotions when I put that letter in the envelope. But I had to do it, for myself more than anything. As hard as it was to suddenly decide I could no longer see him, it would be nothing compared to when the time for him to move came. I wanted nothing more than to be able to see him, but I know I would have his move in my mind, gnawing away at me.
The next time I saw him I planned to put the letter in his pocket so that he would find it when he got home or something. How typical was it that when I did see him a few days later, he had no coat or any clothing with pockets! Fucking ‘O’.
To be continued…
Incredible! I neeeed part 3!
ReplyDeleteSimply beautiful!
ReplyDeleteAs a totally impartial observer, I would just like to ask what starfishing is?
ReplyDelete