*Originally posted on Medium.
Okay, maybe I jumped the gun a little on being made for him. Without a doubt, he was not made for me, but only for himself and he could only ever belong to himself. That never bothered me much as I didn’t want to own him; I wanted to help him become more of himself. I think the hardest part about remembering Gray and trying to understand his confusion is when I remember how much I genuinely care for him. We always read and hear about a lover that deeply wants their love to be happy, whether that is with or without them, but that always sounded very fake to me. Until I met him, of course. If I’m not made for Gray and if Gray’s not made for me, then none of these words truly matter. The only thing that matters is our happiness, with or without each other.
Three hours of everlasting conversation passes, while Gray and I become shocked as we realize our conversation felt so important that we forgot to decide on a movie to watch. The dialogue quickly ended as I panicked when my phone screen read “two missed calls from Mom,” and the time reading 11:32 pm. My short drive home was spent replaying our night together. I felt so satisfied, but how could that be? He didn’t physically touch me, except for a hug, although I had been hoping on a goodbye kiss. Gray’s words and the way he spoke them were tantalizing, each one of his opinions were stored in my memory with the expectation of recalling them frequently.
The next morning, I had a message from Gray thanking me for hanging and wanting to meet up again, eventually. I missed his attention already, which always felt different and better than everyone else’s attention. There must be something I could say to entice an invitation, right?
My luck kept increasing as my small comment about not picking a movie inspired Gray to ask if I wanted to go see a film with him today. Every Tuesday there are $5 movies by a theater closest to our houses, so of course I was excited to go. I don’t remember what movie we watched that day, but I do know that I got my goodbye kiss. I remember getting a goodbye kiss at the movie theater every Tuesday that summer.
Gray always told me he just liked how he felt when he was around me. Wonderfully, I felt the same so my summer before college was spent falling deeply in love with Gray. All summer long, I just waited until I had free time to be around him. Most of my week was spent laughing, driving around with the windows down and our favorite songs blaring. What I remember the most is feeling the sun heat up my skin as I smiled while watching him obnoxiously sing along to all the random throwback songs I would play.
Maybe I do think about the past too much. Sometimes when I am asleep, my mind dreams of his brown eyes staring back at mine and the conversation we had in between his black sheets the first time we ever soiled them. The sun rays were fully beaming onto my face and neck, leaving me feeling more insecure than warm and beautiful. Gray seemed to know what I was thinking or at least what I wanted, as he clearly said, “I love your eyes.”
“Why? They’re just dark brown.”
“No, they’re dark brown JUST like mine. Besides, with the sun on your face, they look incredibly light.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it means something.”
Gray was always doing that, saying something seemingly meaningful then leaving you on a fucking cliff. I always wondered why I didn’t just ask him what he meant in the moment. I felt too embarrassed to ask afterwards, truly because I did not want him to know how much I thought about him while we weren’t together. Maybe if I asked him, maybe then I wouldn’t be dreaming like this.
We fell in love. We never said those words, but if that feeling was not love then I do not know what else that feeling could be. I remember once when my hair was drying improperly after a shower, I complained, but he smiled and told me that I have some really great hair; that my hair is lovely. That’s another thing Gray was always doing, complimenting me and reminding me that his admiration was more than infatuation.
What happens next in our love saga is the sad part, obviously, as all great loves seem to have great downfalls. But isn’t that what makes them so great? A love that can endure obstacles, a love that perseveres with or without physical connection — that’s great. I say all this, yet I bet he rarely thinks about me and our time together.
“Listen to me! Listen to me!” she screamed. Her voice never trembled, each word was pronounced with precision as if she was trying to show you how much you really needed to pay attention. You didn’t give your full attention, again. You can see her mind regretting you with every subtle movement she makes. The thoughts, this is why we’ve never worked out in the past, haunt her mind and escalate her imagination further. She enjoys movies, she enjoys drama. She enjoys playing roles in her real life and for you that has become so damn annoying.
“I always wanted my life to be like a movie, just to know there is some kind of resolution to this shit,” she told you on your first date at the ice cream shop. You found her so damn interesting then. She used to tell you about her thoughts and ask for yours; yeah, maybe you disagreed with her, but God knows you never fought with her. What changed? You ask yourself when things became terrible or if they were always terrible, doomed from the start in some way or another.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she typed. You remember the first time you read that on your messages screen, because you were thankful you were alone so no one could see how wide your smile grew. You are unsure if all these useless memories scare you or entice you. She is unsure, too.
“I know I’m being irrational yet I still behave this way,” she cried into your ear through your phone. The words she said on that day still haunt you, because you remember her so well. She battles with herself daily, constantly talking herself in and out of negative thoughts, thereby becoming contradicting and mysterious. You hate that about her, but you think about how you still could love that about her because she can be extremely rational as well.
“I’ve found how you feel about me is usually how I feel about you. Maybe we’ll just always be that connected.”
These words feel encrypted into your mind, because you remember them all the time yet you cannot find the true meaning of them. Late at night when you’re watching television, trying to fall asleep, you unlock your phone and scroll far enough down on your messages screen to reread those words. She always spoke intensely, having a simple texting conversation still required effort because she was always quick with her responses. You wonder if you miss her or if you miss feeling intellectually challenged during a conversation. Small talk is nonexistent around her. Why? What makes your connection different?
So, what did you do?
You left the best thing for you.
