I used to love our chats about art and pop culture and just anything that came to mind. I don’t really like talking to people but I felt comfortable talking to you. We would always smile whenever our eyes connected, knowing that somehow life would become a little less shitty.
As the year grew older, I got to know you better. Our conversations got deeper, and so did your footprints in my heart. I still remember the first time I came to your room. For the first time I saw how personal your space is. Fight Club and Pulp Fiction on your walls made me realise we had much more in common than I thought.
We spent hours talking about the power of music. I finally got to experience the real you; the person without the mask. I saw a whole new you.
When I left, I was buzzing with words fluttering around in me…
’…spending time with someone. Getting to know them. What they do when they hide from the world. What makes them smile. What makes them happy. Genuinely happy. Seeing the way their eyes light up. No walls. No masks. That is intimacy. That is beautiful.’
Somehow I forgot to put my guard up whenever you were around, making me feel so vulnerable and so safe, like I know you would catch me when I fall. And I did.
The next day our eyes met and my smile faded. Why are you being so cold? Why does it feel like I don’t know you anymore? We don’t talk anymore, and I can’t hold back my tears anymore.
I am still falling and I fear I might fall onto the ground instead of into your arms.