i wanted to talk about love, but said nothing worth saying.


there was a boy i was in love with, three years back, and he did not love me back, so when i woke up in the middle of the night beside him, i curled up safely into myself, and watched him sleep. and he coughed in his sleep, so i gently massaged his chest until he stopped. and in his sleep, he took my hand, and held it close to his heart, as if we were already close, as if he had done this for years. and right then i knew, that if he could've loved me back, he would've, but he didn't. he was already in love with someone, and she wasn't with him. when the sun came up, i kissed him goodbye, and promised myself i wouldn't see him again. i never knew if he wanted me to stay, or to go, or what he was looking for. maybe it was intimacy, or someone to take his mind off the special one that was gone. i could do neither.

more than a year later, i'd meet someone else. i'd write him off as a distraction, laugh often, at others, with him, at him, at myself. i'd leave. and then i'd leave, wondering if i wanted to stay, or to go, wondering if he wanted me to stay, or to go. and then he'd ask me to stay, so i stayed, and there was ice cream from cartons on countertops in the dark, and rain on fire escapes, and i think, love, but i would never use the word because i didn't know whether it was even important to talk about love, when the feeling was there and not. and then the whole thing made me sad, so i left, and he let me leave, because i don't think he was happy anymore either.

it took a long time before i could walk in rain and be happy again.