When it comes to you, I seem to have caught the all too common illness of Alexithymia. I have not the slightest clue of how I feel about you. But in writing this, I may be able to gain some much-needed perspective.
As a student of life and of biology, I have come to understand that with you, my brain’s primary reward centers i. e., the ventral tegmental and the caudate nucleus are intensely set on high alert. My serotonin levels mimic that of a person with an obsessive-compulsive disorder. There’s no doubt that this infatuation I feel or may not feel has become all-encompassing. I have to pace myself, lest I become Tom Cruise, jumping on Oprah’s couch every time I receive a text from you. Who could blame him? Haven’t we all been there before? The only difference is that some of us hide it so well.
If a person rocks your world, you are allowed to be taken away by gravity. Because now, you are no longer satisfied with only loving yourself, you have to take all that you feel and put it into someone outside of you. I am allowed a moment of madness; a moment of encaustic frenzy. I have earned the right to be here in this moment, sitting on the throne of my lust, being guided by my testosterone. Why should I have to fight my libido if its compass is pointing towards your direction? I wear the racing heart, flushed skin, and sweaty palms with pride. Norepinephrine has given my body a gift that I never want to take for granted.
At first, I thought that we were better off as friends than we were as lovers. Or maybe we were so good at being friends that we couldn’t help but become lovers. It just felt like a natural evolution. We’ve mastered the skill of separating the two and untying the ribbons. We interchange between fondness and friendship easily, – without fuss, without worry. I’ve never had to think that it was too much too soon. Or wonder if your subconscious has been designed to sweep me away with fancy words. Your actions are a reflection of your heart, you speak from your core, and that’s why it connects with mine.
For instance, remember the first time you tasted a meal prepared by me? You were so impressed by how delicious it tasted that it made me want to reach across the dining table and take your hand in mine. It mattered to me because I could tell how easily the sincerity of your words flowed from you. That same night, we stood on the balcony, taking in the cold night air. I wrapped my blanket around you as you looked into my eyes until I became shy. It’s been years since a man-made me blush.
We stood there, a painting of ease, and thought about all the places we said we wanted to go to. I wanted to say, “let’s go to Japan and smell the cherry blossoms. April would be a perfect time of year. And if we were feeling adventurous, we could walk through Maruyama Park, and french kiss under the blush-tinted blooms. Then, in September, we could visit Tuscany and like Elizabeth Gilbert, eat- pray- love. The streets wouldn’t be jam-packed with tourists and it’ll seem like the whole city was made just for us. Let’s do it all, convert this attraction into money and time, and spend it traveling the world, side by side.”
That night, I told you about the mini beach hidden behind the levy of my apartment complex. How it held a hidden picnic spot we could one day visit. I told you how an accident happened to me there. How it ruined the magic of the location, – the magic of my thoughts about it. But you said, “let’s go there again and turn a bad moment into a lovely memory. It was a bad day, not a Bad Year.” It made me realize that we hadn’t had a bad day yet. So, right then, I made a decision. That when the going is good between us, it’ll be great, but when it gets bad, we’ll handle it with grace.
I looked up and saw how the moon was so bright that night, I said it was shining just for us. I’ve never said those words before. You make me think about the universe and how it exists just to pull us further into each other. I have no secret I want to hide from you, no shame I want to keep from view. When you leaned on the wooden rail and I was scared you’d fall, you laughed and said you’d already fallen for me. It’s a shame that I am the writer because you’ve stolen all my perfect words.
I think about the loss we’ve both had to endure, the profound sorrows that have shaped us. Yours made you brighter, lovelier to look at. And mine made me darker, scarier to be with. But you took your cotton fleece and with compassion, you slowly polished me until I was sparkling gold. I am now an unclogged pipe, flowing with fresh healing water.
I think about how easy this has been and I fear the doom of complacency. I don’t want us to have the same day twice. I never want to take our easy banters for granted. Or the surprising deep-rooted moments that flow with ease when you hold me in your embrace. The smell of you that clings to me days after you’ve left, keeping me company,- mimicking your physical touch. The first flourishing smile that spreads across your face when your eyes meet mine. The casual mindless jokes you send throughout the day because you want to see me smile.
As you left that night, I watched you from my balcony walking to your car with your head down. Your black long sleeve shirt was casually draped across your right shoulder. You looked pensive; like you didn’t want to say goodbye. Your white Calvin Klien was visibly stained from my makeup. Evidence of how our intertwined bodies formed a cocktail of lust and desire, causing us to explode with excitement all over my gray couch. I wanted to tell you that I knew that we had a dark cloud hanging over our heads. That there was a lot we hadn’t discussed, deep-rooted issues still yet unsolved. But I let you leave because I wanted to live in this bubble until the brewing storm came and inevitably tore us apart.
And two days later, it did. I felt the goodbye before you said it. I accepted that it was time to let go before you thought it. It was not harsh, it was not cruel. It was solemn and real, just as I hoped it would be. A perfect end to an intense but lovely moment in time. Every time I think of you, I know that my heart will always go back to the few three weeks in January I shared with you. I’ll always be Tom Cruise, jumping on Oprah Winfrey’s couch.
By Ayamba.
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