late night inspiration draws from heavy lidded eyes and sleepy thoughts and racing hearts.

it draws from “being so close, yet so far”. it draws from loneliness and one-sided conversations that make you wonder what changed. they say those with heavy hearts write the best and i can’t help but concur.

heavy with dreams and expectations and disappointments and that one encounter with a fleeting love that never meant to mean this much.

when people ask why sleep doesn’t come at five twenty two in the morning, the only response would be a casual dismissal and denial of everything you’re thinking of.

“nothing much,” except, in reality, it’s everything.

It started with a magic trick.

First day of school. Lunch, third period. He was sitting with my friends, playing with a deck of cards. He shows me a trick: look, a card, wait, with a wave of his hand, another card in its place. I was a sucker for magic tricks. I didn’t believe that his name was Robert. He showed me his I.D card. I laughed at the ridiculous picture of him. We added each other on Facebook.

Third period lunch was one of the things I looked forward most to every day, my senior year of high school.

Little by little, I learned snippets of his life. Youngest of three. Doesn’t celebrate holidays or birthdays. Moving after senior year of high school. He was always attractive; girls would stop and say hi to him, batting their eyelashes. He would always reciprocate these flirtatious gestures. Even with me. I figured it was just part of his personality. We were, finally, friends.

We talked every night about everything — school, friends, relationships, what we’d do in the future. You think I talk like this to every girl, don’t you?, he asked. Of course I did! How could I not? He was flirtatious in his nature. It was in his blood. 

But out of everyone, he chose me.

It was always hard for me to be honest and open with him. From day one, I had set myself up for the disappointment because I knew he was going to be gone one day. The inevitable move away. I had entertained the idea of a long distance relationship, but who am I kidding? I enjoy the physical presence of someone. Instant messages, Facebook, and even handwritten letters don’t compare to the feeling of someone hugging you or holding your hand. It was easy, at first, to let him go. But time isn’t my friend.

I mull over it everyday. On the train ride to work. On the bus ride back home. When I see a cute couple walking down the street. On my lunch break. Right before I go to sleep. Sometimes it’s not as bad. I forget it for a while, but something reminds me of him — a mentioning of his name, our inside jokes, anything — and the thoughts come back.

It was only yesterday, at his going away party, that I found out that he talked about me everyday from his best friends. He told them what magic trick he showed me when he first met me. The most minute details that even I didn’t remember. It was bizarre how much they knew about me without ever having met me at all. And it was even more bizarre to find out how much he liked me. I knew it already, but to hear it from his closest friends was terribly heart wrenching.

He was so surprised to see me. At first, we awkwardly made jokes about each other, but after a couple of drinks, we settled in comfortably. We carried on a conversation, I mussed up his hair, we hugged, and he strewn himself across the couch, letting his legs rest in my lap. I could tell what he was thinking: Not my girlfriend anymore. So we didn’t hold hands, or cuddle, or trace our fingers on each other’s arms like we used to.

When I had to leave, he got up, ready to give me a goodbye. I could tell he wanted a longer hug. A few whispered sentences. A proper kiss. But I panicked. I hugged him, and kissed him on the side of his mouth — a clumsy mistake — and jetted out the door. The car service was waiting. And I didn’t know what to do.

I still don’t. 

I went to the party for closure. On the train ride there, I was contemplating going back. All I had to do was get off the next stop, walk across the platform, and I’d be on my way home. Nothing gained, nothing lost. But I went and his friends accepted me warmly. And I left with something I desperately needed: a little bit of closure. It isn’t enough for me to completely move on yet. He says he’ll come back, but like I said: time isn’t my friend. I don’t know when the next time he’ll be back and I don’t know how much will have changed in that time period. 

I kind of want to give him a proper goodbye. One on one. Not surrounded by his closest friends and liquid courage to alleviate the awkwardness and tension.

I wrote him a three page goodbye letter.

I ripped it up. I figure he doesn’t need anymore emotional baggage.

it’s weird to see someone move on.

it’s weird not to be the center of their universe anymore. the feeling of loneliness settles in and triggers a dangerous emotion called envy which sometimes leads to bitterness. like a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you hear their name, or whenever someone starts to ask those questions they know the answer to (“hey, what happened between…”) because they want confirmation. but they don’t ask just for themselves.

they ask because they want to see how you react. to see if you’ll crumble and fall and ask for help back up because you’re no longer loved the way you want to be loved. because the person still loves you, but they’re not in love with you. and being in love is different from loving.

i love cupcakes. i love my family. i love watching my weeknight television shows.

but when i’m in love, it’s like i can’t sleep without smiling to myself, damn i’m so lucky, and thinking about you. it’s like i have butterflies in my stomach and i start writing my first name with your last name just to see what it looks like. and what our wedding and our house and our kids would look like. 

and when it’s all over, those nights of content slumber turns into nights of lonely beds and danger. sleep no longer holds the solace it used to. instead, it never comes. the moments trying to go to sleep turn into dangerous pockets of time where i dwell on thoughts of what used to be, what could’ve been, and what actually happened. 

it’s weird to see you happy when it has nothing to do with me because, maybe i’m being selfish, but it used to be all about me. 

everyday i wonder if i’m walking past my soul mate. maybe it’s the guy sitting across the cafeteria from me. or someone that takes the same train as me. or a mutual friend that i haven’t been introduced to yet. maybe i’ve said ‘thank you’ to him before or glanced at him for a split-second without a second thought. maybe it’s someone i already know. our paths haven’t crossed yet, but the thought of discovering him is exhilarating.

i’m the type of girl that never falls in love first.
it’s always 60/50 - you/me.
we’re not going to kiss all the time,
but i want you to hold my hand,
and touch the small of my back.

i like staying home.
we’ll watch movies.
i’ll cook,
and you’ll clean.

i like it when you’re more in love with me
than i am with you
because it makes me feel safe.