A drop in the ocean
A change in the weather
I was praying that you and me might end up together
It's like wishing for rain as I stand in the desert
But i'm holding you closer than most,
'Cause you are my heaven.
. . . . . . . . .
The day I first talked to you was the best day of my life.
I used to imagine that's how we'd meet, creating scenarios in my mind and falling asleep to them. I told my friends about you two years before we ever spoke, and every day I'd remind them of who you were in fear they'd forget I was emotionally invested in someone already.
I absolutely despised when they tried to set me up with random guys they claimed to know. You held a place in my heart, one they thought nonexistent.
They told me to talk to you, tried to bribe me even. But I was terrified. I thought I wouldn't be good enough for you, that you wouldn't give me a second look, but I was wrong.
I hate telling this story though, it hurts more and more every time, so maybe for once I'll make up a happy ending. Another scenario.
I bumped into you on a foggy Saturday, one typical for that of Humboldt. You were shopping for your sister's birthday, and I was buying a new outfit for my blind date, courtesy of my friends. You were looking at a dress, eyebrows raised, and I was looking at some jeans. I told you to get her a sweater, since it was in the dead of Winter and girls love sweaters. It took you by surprise, my words, not the advice. We'd always been around each other, in the hallways at school, on the streets, even the occasional restaurant. Sometimes I swore I saw you more than my cousin Aisha who was over every Tuesday and Thursday to practice her audition for Hamlet. She got it by the way, her part.
You smiled and thanked me, and then we started talking about school and homework and exercise and food, all kinds of stuff I never thought I'd share with you. Then I gave you my number and you gave me yours because I think we were both shy at the time and feared having to make the first move.
A week later we went out with your friends and my friends to the local bowling alley, and I think Jenny slept with Brandon but you didn't believe me. Everybody loved that night though, talking and laughing over french fries and smelly, worn out shoes.
Soon after we were together all the time, alone, on dates, on walks, on small, little adventures which became our escape. We laughed more than anything, God, I loved your laugh.
And eventually, you asked me to be yours. I think I might have cried a little but I choose to forget that. You drove me over to yours' and I met your family, then we went to your room and you just held me, kissing my shoulders and neck and collarbones, and I loved you.
It was terrifying to admit, but I loved you. Every single damn thing about you, and when I went home I cried because everything was real and true and after two years I could say I loved you and you'd say it back.
You were better than the best thing that ever happened to me, and I loved you.
So if only you gave me that second look when I bumped into you in the clothing section. I told you to get a sweater and you nodded, unsure because you had no idea who I was.
I thought I needed you then but I was naive. I thought I loved you but I was lonely.
But still, I find myself creating happy endings and scenarios. I'm a dreamer, and a what-if-er. I make wishes at 11:11 and torture myself over imperfections. I'm a lover, but unluckily for you, I'm not yours.
I live for what-could've-been's, and I don't mind. Even if they make me cry, and remember, they're better than forgetting and losing myself. Because even if I wasted two years on you, they were two years filled with memories and me.
Two years of my life, and I won't ever take them back.
