Love Letters to Him

Dalliance

I wish I could be chaotic, and for a long time I thought I was.
I thought, I was the wreck that followed good things, the hurricane that uprooted and left things scattered in it's wake.
But I'm not.
I was just plain and simple.
Someone trying to find her place in the two columns I was seemingly supposed to fit in.
I was the best friend.
The one you shared anything and everything with.
I was the other woman.
The one you shared your forbidden fantasies with too.
When did I begin to blur the lines in the middle and start calling you mine, I do not know.
Not precisely.
I just know that in the months that followed, I stayed up at nights staring at the street lights out my window thinking that if I were to go somewhere far far away, you wouldn't come with me.
And a part of me was okay with that.
Is that how you're supposed to feel when you're supposedly in love?
Where were the fireworks, the excitement, the seemingly eternal yearn for the other person?
Was I doing this wrong?
Or were you not the one?
The answer, so simple, did stare upon my face every night and I turned over, shutting my eyes to play the 'what-if's, just so I could sleep with a smile on my face.
Because no matter how many different feelings exploded in my veins, they didn't in you.
I was just the one you went to when you didn't get her after all.
So I decided, it didn't matter.
It didn't matter if my idea of love, derived from years of reading stories and sonnets, wasn't real.
We weren't real either.