I was so nervous. I don’t know if he was, he always seemed to have everything under control. From the moment I met him he felt safe. Not safe in the way that he was going to law school and was destined to wear suits to work and be financially stable. Which he wasn’t, no where near it. He was one of those people that you didn’t have to know very well to be proud of them, you felt as if he was putting everyone else before himself. I can not tell you the number of times I have been absolutely astounded at the heart of this boy. Never have I ever met someone so caring, but yet so rational. Its unfortunate that I search for him in everyone.
As much as I want to go into detail about all that he showed me in the world and in myself, it’d be purely nauseating for both of us. (Me, the author, and you, the reader.) Maybe as time goes on i’ll be able to tell those stories without clouding my rational with emotional extremes.
He always knew just how to get me, I fell for that bag of bones like dominoes. I’ve said more than once that I have been in love, I don’t know how true those statements were at this point, now that I know what it actually feels like. And you know, I hate that too young, too naive bullshit. Not that it has been pointed out to me, but I feel as if I need to defend myself with all I can because I know what I felt; I know how good it can be, and I know how shitty it ends. From that first day where he guided my hand during training to the night that he left to travel across the country. All of those bitter-sweet moments that I didn’t actually want to happen, were some of the best of my life. I was always angry about it, I didn’t want to be with anyone. I wanted to learn to grow on my own.
I don’t know at this point, I don’t know what significance our time together actually held. I’m hoping that soon I get to figure it out, i’m losing my mind trying not to miss him and trying to move on. He took such a large part of me with him, I feel as if there are pieces of me all over the place.
A month, I tell myself. “One more month, until you know.”
This isn’t the first time with this particular boy, or these particular cities that I have murmured those comforting words. It was July when it started. By the time I realized he was leaving, really, actually
leaving it was too late. I had a month, one month until I would know what we were going to do about this disaster. I find myself in an extremely similar place right now. Although we aren’t having dinner with his family, and he isn’t watching the kids with me. In one month, I will know. This waiting game is tortuous.