how the words come

the story i have to tell (vs. the one i wish i got)

this is a true story. i was walking down the hallway when i first saw you and i thought, "wow, what a beautiful human being." you couldn't be human, i thought, you must be a celestial being of some sort, a god, something mythical because you looked too good to be true. you.. you did not even glance at me.

this is a fantasy. i am walking down the hallway when you first lay eyes on me and you think, "wow, what a beautiful human being." in this scenario, you look at me, and i look at you, and we both smile. it is the beginning of an amazing love story, better than any Nicholas Sparks novel or teenage romance, strong and pure enough to withstand any war, rebuild after every storm. better than... i don't know, everything.

this is reality. i asked for your number because i needed help with chemistry homework. i texted you, and you took three hours to respond. a one word reply, and yet i felt like i'd won the lottery. you helped me with my homework, but when i tried to continue the conversation afterwards, you said you had to go, and i... i still smiled.

this is a daydream. we exchange numbers and you text me first, not even about the homework that initially made us get each other's numbers in the first place. we talk into the wee hours of the morning, and you tell me all your darkest secrets. "i'm broken," you say, and i respond, "then i'll fix you." the next day, you tell me you might be in love with me, and i kiss you hard. you... you kiss me back, even harder.

this is a fact. you started dating this girl in our chemistry class and she was beautiful. the female version of you, all crisp and well-drawn and perfect. two months in and you find out she'd been talking to someone else. i asked you if you were okay, and you told me to, "fuck off and leave me alone, holy shit." i stumbled away from you, petrified, and you... you hated me, it seemed.

this is a wish. you never date that girl, because you're dating me. she is jealous of us, and it's fantastic. i never cry because of you, i never get angry. we are perfect. we last longer than life itself, beat time at its own game. we... we are the epitome of true love.

this is the truth. you kissed me at a party. drunk. probably high, too. you told me, "i'm just really lonely, right now, you know?" and i kissed you back because i didn't know if i'd ever get another chance. your hands rested on my hip and my thigh and i twisted my fingers in your hair. you tasted like alcohol and smoke, not what i expected, but i didn't complain. i... i had no right to, honestly.

this is the slap in the face. i asked you a few days later, "so do you want to talk about the party?" and you looked me, shrugged, "what about the party?" i bite my lip, "about what happened--" you laughed, laughed in my fucking face, "listen, i was so drunk, i have no idea what went down." i knew you well enough to know that you were telling the truth. you... you did not remember us.

this is unrequited love. i stopped texting you because you'd never text back. you started dating another girl and this time it lasted. i spent my time in an alternate universe where you were mine, but i had no way to actually get there. i could still taste you on my lips, months later, and i knew you'd never remember that at one point, you wanted me. sometimes you'd talk to me, sometimes you'd smile, and every time i'd be eager and happy to receive any ounce of attention from you. you kissed her and remembered it, and i... i loved you, still.