by Sinai Bebo
Processing a want of a boy
I’ll be honest, I’m devastated. I was so sure that I would get to stay. Staying meant that I could be excited, and I could look forward to all sort of possibilities. And then very promptly, dreams died that I felt were beginning to be born. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye then, and I’m still not prepared to say goodbye now. And I realize now what doesn’t feel finished. I never said goodbye to the dream of you. I had you in front of me, but not in the way I was supposed to behold you. Not in the way I’m supposed to hold and protect you. The way you were so close and yet so far is crushing me. And I keep thinking if we had more time if things had been different- if we had been allowed to say...
I know I’ll get over you. I know I’ll stop wanting you. I’ll stop searching the crowds for you. I’ll stop waiting for you to arrive. I’ll stop wanting you to look at me in a certain way. Because I’ll know that you won’t come. There won’t be a you to look for. You won’t look at me at all. So part of me is eager to go. Eager to not have you to want. It means that I’ll get to see that it would never have been even if I stayed. It would never have been what I have in my head. Maybe it’s the love of the wanting- because would I want you as desperately if I had you. Would I die to hold your hand when you are already clinging to me? Would I be so excited to see you walk into a room or would you be just like everyone else? Maybe it’s the thrill of ‘will he come.’ The guessing game swallows my every thought. What am I missing as my mind’s eye has a laser focus on you?
But it’s the crushing disappointment when you don’t show that shouts back to me ‘liar.’ There’s not a specific picture, but this powerful feeling that I’m somehow bound to you. What should be the most thrilling of thrills is a mindless game to play. I’ve learned my part well. How I’m supposed to behave towards you. That you belong in the 'everybody else' category. But that’s not what I feel at all. I think that I wouldn’t get bored of you holding my hand. Would jump into your arms or be where you are when you walked into a room.
But then I’m wondering what I’m enamored by. It’s not like I knew you. It’s not like I knew how you thought, why you do the things you do- or that I somehow know the secrets of your soul. I just feel that I do. I’m in love with the person I imagine you to be. This person who needs the me that I am. That you’re somehow behaving the way you do because you too are enamored by me. That you must secretly want me too or you wouldn’t act the way that you do. That this-the wanting-is a secret we carry between us. But what if the way you behave is the way you are. There isn't a secret between us. No double interpretation and meaning to your actions. What you say is what you mean. When you look at me fondly- it’s just that. A fondness of I see the way you are instead of the tenderness toward what I think we could be. Maybe my heart space is wasted on a you that doesn’t exist but I wish it did. What if the you that I want isn’t the you-you are ever going to be. I should stop imagining you will suddenly speak magic words that have never crossed your mind. I’ll stop wanting you to want me in the way that I want to be wanted by you.