Invisible

Goodbyes

As you may have noticed by now, I reveal a bit more of myself with every chapter I write. I realised how invisible I am in the grand scheme of things a while ago, and I want to make sure you know me - all of me, even the parts I hide from myself. 

Have you ever known someone who died? And I don't mean that great-aunt on the other side of the country whose funeral you went to even though you only met her once when you were three, I mean have you ever loved someone, someone close to you, who died?

I texted you a little over a week ago, complaining that I hate when people die and I hate when people keep hugging me when I'm just trying not to cry. I had just found out my grandfather died in his sleep. When you responded "at least you knew him," I didn't know how to respond. Yes, I'm lucky to have been so close to him. But nobody likes goodbyes.

When I was little, I lost my favourite book. I was in the airport, eight years old, reading the last few chapters of The Hunger Games. I set it down next to my dad while my mum and I went to the bathroom, and when I came back it was gone. I still don't know where it went. I cried so much that my mum went to a small bookstore in the airport before our flight and bought me a new copy (I finished rereading the whole book by the end of our two-hour flight). 

When I was in middle school, my grandmother died. I went to her house every morning before school, since my mum and brother had to leave two hours before me and didn't want me to be home alone. When my mum woke me up at three in the morning smelling like a hospital, I knew. She didn't have to tell me.  But the funny thing was, I didn't cry when I first found out. I nodded, hugged my mum, whose tears drenched my shoulder, and stayed strong. 

I still cry sometimes, when I'm alone and everything is piling up. Not as much as I used to, not anymore. But sometimes.

There's one goodbye I'm scared for, one that I know is going to be here before I'm ready.

I'm terrified of saying goodbye to you. I'm scared out of my mind for that day when I kiss you goodbye, and it's goodbye forever. I don't want you to leave me and go to Kirov, as selfish as that sounds. I want you to be happy and successful, and I know that Kirov is a huge opportunity for you, but I want you here. With me. And I feel so guilty about that, because what horrible girlfriend doesn't want her boyfriend to be happy? I should be willing to give you up. But I'm not, and I don't think I ever will be.

So when the school year ends, and I look to you with fear in my eyes, understand that it's not you I'm afraid of. I love you, Bear. I'm afraid of losing you and your kisses and your goodnight texts at five in the morning when I've just woken up and you have to wake up in an hour. I'm afraid of losing your hoodies that I could wear as a dress because they're that hilariously big on me. I'm afraid of losing your gentle punches, more lazy nudges than anything else, when I challenge you to a fight even though I'm mostly asleep. I'm afraid of losing your eyes, your beautiful eyes that tell me a different story every time I look into them.

I know I always say I hate people.

But I think I hate saying goodbye to them more.