Prescript
That was then, and this is now. I'm older now, slightly wiser and know better. I've lost those stars in my eyes. Admittedly, I made too much of a fuss about you. You were nice, and seemed perfect on paper, but you were not what I was craving. In Adele's croon, I conclude,
I've found a boy whom I love more
Than I ever did you before.
I know I said you were perfect. But you weren't. I don't know what happened. You let me down, I disappointed you, the spark got stifled, you shut down on me. Whatever the reason was, it ended, and I've been reconciled to it for a very long time.
A.
*
Prologue
Oh but dear lord, this boy is perfect for me. He's not perfect, not by a long shot, and he doesn't require me to be, which is even better. But he's crept up on me and edged his way into left field. Hit me like a punch when I figured it out, I tell you.
How I shudder to think of the pain I've caused him. All the time I was wasting myself on trying to be flawless for the other people, he was there. Funny thing is that I don't feel self-centred when talking about the extent of his love for me, neither do I take it for granted. It's just that he's proven himself time and time again, and to doubt him now would be an insult to his integrity.
It started on the very first day I landed myself in this place. Despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that I was the new girl in school, I ousted him from the seat he'd have taken in his so-called 'clique'. There were four rows, eight seats, and nine of us. He ended up sitting across the aisle and staring at the beauty next to me who had taken me under her wing. On the high of new friends in a new place, I didn't realise I was the usurper, but I did get a vague feeling that he should be included in our conversation. But then again, I didn't even know his name, and I was wrapped up in my own personal bubble.
Little did I know, exactly a year later, he would be in my personal bubble with me. And the only real conversation would only include him and me.
I have a tendency to have both feet firmly planted in the clouds, and my head in the constellations, so I'll now have to skip around three months on the soundtrack. Truth be told, I don't think I came down from the new-place high until after summer, when I quietened my exultant heart and took a look around.
When my eyes came back into focus, I was sitting on a three-seating bus seat, between him and his best friend. We were all laughing, sweaty, and having a good time. My heart swelled up at the acceptance I had gained, and a desire filled me. So, I looked to my right, blinked a few times and fell for his best friend.
It wasn't love, to be sure; just a little hormonal infatuation. Never being one to keep things bottled up, I told at least three females within two weeks of awareness of my crush, and unfortunately from there it circulated through the feminine grapevine.
Admittedly, I lost my head over this new person. I drew pictures where there were only blanks, allotted to him qualities he did not deserve, and otherwise tried to rationalize my caring for him. Since, I have realised that I was too trusting, too willing to fall.
Those few weeks in autumn, it was all I could do to drag myself through classes, deflect thorny questions and collapse into the bus seat which I would share, heart racing, with my crush (and him too) for the next three quarters of the hour. I loathed anyone that took this precious time away from me. I remember, once, due to circumstances stealing my crush away from me, I had to sit next to him, with no crush next to me, trapped against the window seat. I was consequently crabby, and my replies to his attempts at conversation were cold.
I was reproached later by someone else present on the bus for being so completely rude to him, and I felt unbearably guilty.
Truth be told, a deep anger towards the boy was smoldering in my belly at that time. He was, in my perception, what kept my crush from even considering me as a candidate for his heart. I speak of the goddamn bro code, because he'd told his best friend he liked me. I hated him for that, for killing my hope, my passion, for the sake of a flighty crush on me, one with no depth, one that would fade in a week, for all the sweet words that had no meaning. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't use such strong words, because the anger, with the passion, fast faded to apathy.
I'm no fainthearted wallflower; I was fully prepared to confess my interest to my crush in the hopes that something might come out of it. And I did come clean, eventually. But that was after the peak of my infatuation had passed, and it had become clear that nothing could happen.
Oh, that was a messy story too. Too sum it up, my crush was in love with a girl who loved him and rejected him, and then he went crawling to another girl in the most condescending, 'I'm doing you a favour' way you could imagine. It was precisely this arrogance that was a bucket of cold water on my passion, and when I woke up I realised what a goddamn moron I had been, falling for such a superficial character. It bears note that the second girl is now one of my closest friends.
So, to get back to my story. I had invested a lot of time on my moment of blindness – time spent laughing uncontrollably, time spent examining prominent veins on his hands, time spent mapping voice waves in my head. The residues, understandably, remained for a long time.
For the rest of the year, I calmed my tits. I had twenty-two brief attractions (we counted), and I suppressed that desire in my heart to find a person as well as I could. Which was pretty goddamn well, actually. I buckled up and got to some serious work, concentrated on getting to know more people and have a good time, and generally climbed back up to Cloud Nine, where I have taken up permanent but habitual residence. Occasionally drama reached my ears, but I was indifferent.
I soon after realised, all the while someone had been trying to get my attention. Someone was treating me special. Someone was treating me different. Someone was looking at me and seeing more than I was. Someone was still lovin' me.
The first time I dated him was in November, and it began as a farce.
