dreamland

three

I may be a horrible, awful person. Because I am just as bad as you were—as you are. After all it takes two to do the deed.

It takes two.

It was you that made me fall in love. It was I that did that hard, crashing, fall. I was the one that kissed you and held you and touched you and fucked you and loved you. It was us both. It included the two of us without me knowing. I didn't have so much as a faint clue of what was occurring day by day. As your eyes lingered on mine in your car, in my bedroom, in the back of the poorly lit restaurant, on my front step. When I spoke and complained and huffed and laughed. When you held me close, my thighs opening wide for you. As you looked deep into my eyes and drove deeper into me. During my exhales and moans like ones heard after a long exhausting day. A day spent in someone's swimming pool with our clothes sticking to our skin with coolness instead of heat like earlier. The twenty fours in which you spun me around, dizzying me, making all the feelings inside whirl as well. They whirled and whirled to the point that I almost felt them spill. They would have spilled; green and yellow vomit splattered on your jeans and shirt and wooden floor. Yet I managed to shake the feeling away but not good enough because it came stumbling out that night. With your hands and mine united and your body sticking like honey on a jar to mine. I told you as your lips parted from my mouth. And then you lied to me, so perfectly, that I believed it for months after. You said you loved me.

You loved me.

I couldn't believe it, after all the bumps and cracks throughout this. All the arguments, all the long stares as we decided if it was worth the fight. It felt as if we had entered a whole new phase of this. If it was possible—which I made it possible—I longed for you even harder. It didn't matter how many times we spent undressing on my bed or in your best friend's basement. While my body trembled and your mouth opened to curse before that final thrust. It didn't matter how many times you said you loved me and loved me and loved me. It didn't matter that you called me in the middle of the night, saying my name over and over again, telling me you missed me. I didn't care for it. I wanted you all for me. All your time that I assumed was being taken up by work or friends or that troubled home of yours you could never talk about. I wanted to finally show you to my friends because even they believed you weren't real. How could it have been real; that the first boy I loved, loved me back. But of course, you managed to pull out one of your many many excuses. They were pulled out from thin air, like a coin behind my ear, oh the magician you were. The disappearing act was your favorite but was the least of mine. I hated it so much. It's true what they say, the habits you once loved do turn into the biggest problems. It was what made me yell while you looked away. I understand now that you were drowning, suffocating within all the guilt. Perhaps all those times that you cursed when you finally reached your peak, it was because the guilt slapped you hard and sudden. I didn't know what to think anymore. It's hard to believe you ever did love me. Even my friends say it as what they think are comforting words. They always tell me that you didn't love me, you couldn't have. And although I nod my head with them I can't help but ache at the sound of it. I wish they knew that when they say that to me, it's like they are only bringing about more blood to the wound. But they don't know because it's too humiliating to even discuss.

The first boy I loved didn't love me.

I didn't ever think of myself being off to the side. It was first the main course, the one you indulge in and compliment that cook about. And then there is the side dish, so tasty. It's often French fries or mashed potatoes or salad. I was the side dish. I was what you claimed to like most.

I didn't know a magician's act included lying too.