His smile. His handsome smile. It makes me want to scream to the whole world how insanely attracted I am to him

 When I think about him

From January 21st to February 28th 

  

I don’t see a road to love, I don’t love him. The impact was strong because I had been in the darkness for so long. He managed to bring some sparkle back into my life — like when he imitated my mannerisms, when he said I looked handsome, when we cuddled. I hadn’t allowed anyone this near in so much time, it was an anxious surprise yet delicious. 

  We then had that discussion. The discussion one part says the other part is moving too fast, one is not looking for nothing serious, no sort of relationship, assuming the other was, when in fact, he wasn’t either. This bucket of ice allowed me to see right from the beginning that I opened up parts of me only some had the privilege to see. “Let’s not tone it down though”, he said. “I am all or nothing” I remember thinking. 

  I knew this darkness would catch up to me eventually — now I have to deal with it. It feels like a palpable dread, some burning pain that weighs on my chest and melt scalding hot on my bowels. No eating. No sleeping without panic attacks in the middle of the night. The pain has been awakened, the pain of a fractured heart trying to beat love again. “Let’s not tone it down” he said. Give me all the perks you have but I’ll give you nothing in return, it sounds like. 

  He said he felt I was distant when I was all but, I was closed up. How can one remain open and “untoned” down, when being open pushes things into whatever neither of us wanted it to be? Then, toning it down, he got distant, and his answers wouldn’t come anymore as they once had. 

  He would disappear for hours and hours and hours. My lesson has not been learnt yet. I still think, wait, feel. Like a flaky soil imploring for water. He disappeared and I invited myself to go wherever he was so we could be together. And this is where my responsibility lies, and the moment I fell into the trap. His push and pull worked and I was entangled. I did what I had to do, I could see him being distant, but I remained. Even when the messages were poorly delivered, I stayed. 

  I stayed until I took a step back and he pulled me back again. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t date you, I meant I wouldn’t date anyone. But if I would, it would be you”. 

“You have the eyes of someone who’s been through a lot. A lot of things happened when I wasn’t there, but I also see space for things that will happen with you and I”, he said, pulling me during a dinner we had at the pizzaria. Among many other dinners we had, thankyouless on his part, so he could push me again the next day. 

  He pulled me saying he likes me, is attached to me, wants to be with me and fears me leaving him behind. “When I’m with you I feel like I used to when I was young in my hometown north, safe and secure” he said, pulling me closer. “Are you trying to tell me you feel like home with me?” I said, stupidly. “I guess I am, yes”. 

  Then he pushed away me again — had I not told him how painful it would be to do what he did in front of my eyes, would it have broken my heart differently? I will never know. I, for once, was told I felt like home. I guess he didn’t like the home enough so he came in like a wrecking ball, indeed, to demolish whatever remained there. Afraid, he held back the three-worded sentence that was later said, again, pulling me when I was pushing myself out. “You wanted to tell me the moon was beautiful, didn’t you?” “I did, but it shouldn’t be said randomly, only at a special moment”. What a pull, right? Implying now that the house he demolished was actually loved by him. I guess this word means nothing nowadays. 

“His smile. His handsome smile. It makes me want to scream to the whole world how insanely attracted I am to him” 

I feel old fashioned and obsolete to value loyalty, respect and honesty above all else, perhaps I am. Obsolete. 

I once told you I wanted to feel special and enough for someone. The world is about consumption, though, one might have a house one calls home, but one will always aim for other houses. Better. Bigger. More expensive. 

Then a thought occurred. Why am I still going after this man? It had been over a month, I go because I want to, but there’s this unspoken energy between us that implies some sort of parasite-like dynamic. I go, I pay, I buy— my energy was one of giving and his of receiving, but I suppose it had never occurred to him that’s common decency to not act like whatever is given to you, is yours, granted. Someone who would never have time to reply, never invite me out, never have enough money to see me, but in the blink of an eye would be out with friends — paying or being paid. I was thirsty and I needed some water, but all he did was drink water in front of me and not offer me a sip. “Not my responsibility”, he’d say. 

I needed his help, his cup of water, his attention and care for at least a moment. I thought I had earned that after one month and a half being the caretaker and also the provider of almost every single moment we had together. But no. With his cup of water in one hand, he stared at me while I begged for a sip, and said he had to go. He had more important things to do than take care of the person who’s been there for him all this time lately, he had to play videogames. 

The game he played with me wasn’t interesting enough, I suppose. “I am a narcissist” he would insist. We talked and he explained he adores me, likes to go out with me and spend time with me (at my expense, surely, anyone would). I tried to explain to him how I felt at the club when he broke my heart, and how I felt when he didn’t give me that cup of water — meaning care and attention. He flipped it out on me. I suddenly became a demanding person, who doesn’t see his endless efforts, who expects so much of him he might never meet them. He pushed, pulled and turned here. 

Our communication had been frustrating. The dialogues almost always null, unimportant, distant and vague. 

Then I travelled. 

Whatever happened, changed it all. Our last week came where both our minds seemed to be filled with monsters. I kept myself as I had always been: there for him. I invited him out, took care of him, made him feel important, showed up. But it never came back to me. I was taken from granted, nothing came back to me but random vague empty replies — I felt lost and strange, made a fool of. Then I decided to focus on myself for the first time instead. And what transpired was the end of something that hadn’t even begun. 

And thinking about what had always been amiss I can assure myself I know the answer now: him. He was never present, not fully. Now, seeing it in hindsight I clearly visualize his body was there — because I reached out to him— but he wasn’t. His eyes were vacant. I spent time with a carcass who liked to hug me until he didn’t, who liked to see me until I didn’t pay, who flipped my feelings against me and made him the victim all the time. “I must be an asshole then right?” He would say when I explained how I felt. I guess you were, I won’t argue with you about that.