A Letter to the First Boy I've Ever Loved

6 - The Impossibility of Another You

I regret ever seeing you differently. I regret that night, when I was not sober enough to resist you force me to spill. I regret ever hoping and feeling like we could be more than what we were then someday. I regret all the nights we spent talking about us, about what we were and about what we could be. I regret all the mornings I spent, after talking to you, hoping and longing for that day to come and yet, kind of afraid and undecided myself.

It was afternoon that day. A bright and sunny and humid one once again. We were on the phone again, blabbering to one another random things as we engaged in random activities - activities meaning that famous computer game for you and that Facebook game for me. My sister amused you once again that day and you, your stupid and mindless self, said,

"When we start dating, we should.."

And those first few words were the only words I caught in whatever it was you mentioned. You said them so casually.. as if you were certain, a hundred percent certain, they would occur. You said them as if they were nothing. You said them, in passing and in passing they went past my ears and past my stupid brain and settled in my blood-pumping muscle and stayed there.

They pained and cheered me, a startling yet inviting contradiction. They stapled themselves well upon the edges of my fragile little soul - as a tiny little staple wire does to a sheet of paper, binding the entity yet threatening to rip it apart if it ever decides to take off. But I never really minded the threat - I was too blinded by the hope it provided my soul with. I was too enticed by its promising beauty and wondrous joy.

We said our goodbyes that afternoon before evening. We said our goodbyes after we talked about everything and nothing, like always. We said our goodbyes after you said those words so carelessly yet I found them beautiful and allowed them to linger and linger and linger within myself. We said our goodbyes right before I said my first hellos to the day "we start dating."

I regret ever being in my daydreams, believing and seeing, even, what the what-ifs and could-have-beens hold. I regret waking up and looking forward to more of our meetings, believing and seeing that it would be the day - the day that you become mine and I, yours. Officially, anyways.

I regret it because it is why we cannot go back to the way we were before. I miss being friends with you. I miss you. Because believe it or not, whether you were mine or not, you were a friend to me. You were one of the dear ones. You were even once the dearest.

You were the only you in my life, and so far, you still are the only you.

I could talk to you about everything and anything and we wouldn't get bored or get awkward, even if the questions and answers became too personal, too hidden and meant to be forgotten. The things you told me, I remember them all. I could even recite them back to you. I don't know if you remember mine but I remember all of yours. Some quite vaguely but the others quite vivid, still.

You once told me about the day your mother caught you drinking a bottle of beer at a family event and she almost killed you. You told me about the life-changing experience you had as you fed the homeless. You sent me a picture of your crazy classmates peeing in public places. You made me listen to your favorite singers.

I told you about the crazy day my best friend and I spent with each other. I told you about my mom's heartbreaking love story. I told you about how I wanted to be a writer. I told you about how I never cry except after watching emotional movies. I made you watch funny videos that I loved.

And you told me about your insecurities and your shortcomings. You told me about your scorched relationship with your only brother. You told me about how you wanted to be a pilot.

We told each other of that silly childhood toy we still keep within the walls of our closets. We told each other of the terrible nicknames our parents gave us when we were children. We told each other about what we feared the most. We told each other of the strangest things we've both ever experienced.

And thousands of others which could never be contained even by a thousand pages. You told me stories as I told you mine, too.

Most times, even, we would sing out loud to songs of all genres and of all languages. We would laugh at how pathetic the pick-up lines we shared with each other sounded. I remember our rap battles and game nights.

And I remember most importantly, the nights when you'd tell me a horror story which I begged you not to because I was a coward. You'd tell me anyway and listen joyfully at your successful attempt at frightening me - and promising to stay up with me because you knew how scared you had made me. You'd comfort me and change the subject and wait until I was asleep before you turned the call off with a good night message, popping the next morning.

But in between the laughing, singing and securing, we also wept as if we were side-by-side about the things we both promised to keep hidden from the rest of the world. Beautiful they were and beautiful they have remained, treasured and locked up. Well for me, at the least.

Do you remember that one special night when we slept leaving the call on? You were snoring but I never told you and I was laughing silently while you were in the midst of it. We both woke up to each other's lazy good mornings, and continued to talk until then night came again. I treasured you telling me about your delicious breakfast and you joking around with your house helper in the background.

There was even once when we, for the first time in our lives, talked on the landline instead of online. It was funny and cool and amusing and crazy - 2am and rustic sounds beneath the ends of telephones connected to wires. Solid. Landline hits, you said.

I was mad at you that day, right? Because you snooped someplace where you shouldn't have. I was mad at you that day because you lied to me and I had caught you, but all my anger vanished because of the amusement our first legitimate phone call brought me. You must be doing that with other girls now though, right? It's no longer a you-and-me thing? Well, I haven't but I'm certain you have.

The sound of you telling me stories were priceless for me. Your voice, singing with me from evening to morning, telling me jokes that seemed funnier than they actually are simply because you're the one sharing them, laughing with me, laughing at me, calling me cute, calling me by the nickname my mom gave me, calling me by the favorite fast food we shared, they were and are all indelible.

Indelible were the memories you have left behind for me to cherish. Indelible were the inside jokes, the endless twenty questions, and the nights we listened to each other talk and talk and talk until we ran out of things to talk about, though we never actually did. We never ran out of things to talk about because we have so much in common. Or rather, we had so much in common. Because now, I'm not so sure.