because i wanted you to know

13

There's a quote from one of my favorite books that reads, "Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are"

It rings in my head nearly all the time because it makes me think of you.

I've never been sure of what I mean to you, or even what you mean to me. Our relationship is so foreign compared to what the movies show, and there's no textbook in the world that can explain the dynamic we have or the feelings we feel.

I always think that we're over, that we've reached an ending and it's time for us both to move on, but every time I try to close this story, our story, one of us reopens the wound, or one of us reopens the love.

You told me recently after weeks of not talking at all, "You're the reason I've evolved, and I will always love you for that."

And I wish we were the type of people to just take a comment and run with it, but there's always two fucking meanings to everything we say to one another.

You telling me that I've changed you, in a good way, sent me into a whirlwind of emotion. Did I have that much of an impact on you? Did you even mean anything serious by it to begin with? And if you love me so goddamn much, friend or more, why don't you ever tell me when I want you to? Why do you blindly remind me when I least expect it?

I read those words over and over, thinking through every possible meaning, but maybe it wasn't that deep at all, maybe it was an innocent compliment. I never know with you.

I told you you were one of the best people I've ever known. You said you felt the same about me.

Two nights ago I got really drunk. It wasn't for any specific reason other than me and some old friends just trying to have a good time. I knew, as I always know when I drink, I wanted to talk to you. There hasn't been a single night since knowing you that I've not desired to hear your voice, but when I'm drunk I have the confidence or, maybe, the recklessness to actually make that desire come to life.

So I got on facetime and we talked for two long hours.

Two hours of what? What secrets did we share and what things did I say that I probably shouldn't have?

I remember your laughter the most. It's my favorite sound, so it's hard to forget (no matter how drunk I may be). I remember everything I said being funny to you—you had a witty reply to every word I slurred. And I know that's why I like talking to you so much.

I love people that make me feel at ease. I love the way you participate in topics I'm passionate about just to hear me go on and on.

I could be screaming, and you'd make light of whatever I'm so fired up about. You make me feel calm.

As the book I previously mentioned quotes, I simply like the way you say things.

Another thing I remember is asking you about your future plans. They're so different than mine. We are on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. You're comfortable and you like settling and you told me you could never leave this place behind. I told myself I'd never go for someone like that. Falling in love with someone that wants things to constantly stay the same is so dangerous, as I thrive in perpetual change.

None of this mattered, though. When I'm talking to you, the future seems so distant. You have always had this way of making me feel so incredibly in the moment. As if I'm on this high and I can't see the come down because I'm having so much goddamn fun.

You take away my worries and my stress and you just fill me with this overwhelmingly euphoric contentment. When you're there, I feel undeniably alive. I've been waiting for someone like that since I was 14 years old and watching sappy drama tv series.

That's why I can't let you go. Because I've waited so long to even meet you.

That night is one of many that have made me question everything I thought I knew; that have brought us back from a kind of hiatus and into a state of confusion and questions.

Drunkenly flirting with you as you laugh and play along is kind of the epitome of being in love at 17. We're messy and confusing and so god awful at communicating how we really feel.

And it all somehow feels perfectly right.

I used to think that loving you was pain, that throwing away logic to engulf myself in pure emotion was going to be the cause of my destruction. I know now with complete certainty that loving you is so far from pain; that the constant stabbing in my chest isn't from my admiration, but rather from missing you.

The pain I feel is caused by your absence; the idea in my head of what we could be and what you won't let unfold.

So, please, stop teasing me with empty vows of love and drunken calls in the middle of the night and just— just come back to me, fully, fervently, ferociously.

Let me give you the rest of me before this year is over.