Edge of Desire

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There, I just said it: I’m scared you’ll forget about me.”
– John Mayer. 

I wanted to swallow the words as soon as the first few started filling the space between us, but they just kept spilling out.

“I don’t want to get in the way of the life you have here.

As soon as I spoke the idea into existence, this notion that you would have two lives– a life at school and a life I existed in– I already knew how I wanted you to reply.
And God, I hated myself for it.
I hated myself for setting you up, for replaying your response in my head before you even opened your mouth, for wanting you to tell me what I wanted to hear: “You’re a part of both of my lives.”

But, “Don’t worry, you wont,” is what hovered in the air between you and I in the front seat of my car.


 

“Good night, lovely.”

I typed the words, and they appeared across the screen, overlapping the kiss face I was making in the ten second picture I was sending you.

You were spending Spring Break in Florida, and I was tucked in my bed praying that this time–this time we would move forward.
Because in eight years, you had swept in and swept out time and time again, and I had often times been the one to open the door and pat you on the back as you left.

This time, I would be different.
This time, I would stand in front of the doorway, grasping the silver nob even if my hands were sweating, and I wouldn’t let you leave until you knew.

So I sent “Goodnight, lovely,” and added a purple heart emoticon on the end.

There. You knew.
In just one little ad-on word in a snap chat picture that would flash across your phone screen and disappear forever, I had told you that you had held my heart firmly in your hands since fifth grade, and I wanted you to be the one I sat next to on a front porch doing whatever old people will be doing in another sixty years.

 

 

And  in three months, I forgot to call you “lovely”.

I forgot what it felt like to say the word and it sound like waves crashing, lighting clapping, jail bars slamming on a woman who had just stolen something.
I forgot what it felt like to say the word as though I wasn’t allowed to say it, as though you wouldn’t reply with “I love you.”
I forgot what it felt like to say the word and it sound like a secret.


 

When you start to feel like you’re going to miss someone more than they are going to miss you: miss them anyway. 

Do not deny yourself the simple pleasure of ferociously missing another person until it hurts just because you’re worried they’ll only think of you when they shut their eyes and wrap themselves up at night.

Because that’s when you’ve really lost. That’s when you’ve really missed out on loving them.


 

I started telling him how lovely he is again.

Maybe it’s because I don’t ever want him to forget it.

And maybe it’s also because I love the way getting to finally say it makes me feel.

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