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Sunday, February 17, 2013

Love story : Feels like home




Well, this will probably be unnecessarily long, so apologies ahead of time. I won't give you any introduction to how I met this man. I will only tell you why I ever fell for him in the first place.

Black & white picture of a coupple hugging next to a train






He’s just one person out of the thousands I’ve met in my life. One guy who’s opinion of me holds no meaning. That is, until I give it meaning. I guess that’s why I care. But why give him that power? He hasn’t done anything extraordinary to deserve such a power over my thoughts. I guess that’s the answer. It’s because he hasn’t done a single thing. He’s always just there. Smiling. He’s never said anything to make me feel special. He’s never done anything to make me feel special. Everyone else does. Everyone else always tries. That’s what humans exist for. They try to make people feel a certain way. Some try to treat you horribly to make you feel horrible. Some try to treat you lovingly to make you feel loved. He does none of these things. He’s sentences hold no influence. He’s just there. Stares. It’s all I ever really exchange with him. I don’t have the ability to hint things with my words, so I just stare. You know, that stare that’s just a little too intimate for your own liking. It’s the stare that lasts just a little too long. The stare that makes your insides feel like they’re not supposed to be there at all. The stare that makes all conversations stop immediately. The stare that causes one person to completely understand the other for two seconds until the coward looks away. It’s not love. I don’t even want a relationship with him. It would be far too awkward and I couldn’t realistically see it working. Physically he’s nothing like my usual preferences, though I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have many. I don’t want to go on dates with him. I don’t want him to admit strong, passionate feelings of love for me. He’s my friend. I do not, however, want him to become a memory. I don’t want any of them to become a memory either. But him, there’s something different. There’s something stronger. There are few moments in my life when I can fall asleep quickly. Listening to him breathing is apparently one of these moments. I like these moments. I really, really do. I think of nothing. I long for nothing. I feel secure. I feel comfortable. Amongst slow, hard breaths coming from beside my bed I feel like I belong in this moment at this place. I feel at peace. I smile to myself. I feel at home. It just feels like home. One time, we went down to a music store where I was freely allowed to play piano. My hands trembled in fear of playing in front of him, but my passion defeated my fear. I was sitting at a piano after all. That’s my safest place in the world, and I was inviting him to enter. It’s something I rarely do. And I played. I played every emotion I could have felt in that moment. I played the words I could not say. The words that I was scared to say. The words that I couldn’t physically say at all. And I played. I forgot he was even there. I forgot he was there, yet I played for him as if I suddenly could scream all of the things I wanted him to know into the air. And so I played. “….What was that song called?” He managed to say as I was done. He repeated the question multiple times throughout the day. He didn’t want to forget. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew why I played it. Maybe he could understand my language of music as well as I could speak it. Or maybe he just liked the song. That I will never know. He never said anything. He just asked for the name, and waited for me to play him another.


I cannot describe to you everything that he brought to my life except for that he made me feel at home. Home. I knew exactly what it meant. And I cry. I cry because it’s all gone. It's all thousands of miles away from me, forgetting my face and my name. I had to leave it all. I had to leave my home.


Months have gone by and yet my feelings for him have not faded in the slightest. I have accepted the fact that I will spend the majority of my future alone and waiting for a man that I will most likely never see again. Now all I hope for is for someone to make me forget, or that the facts that I have accepted will be wrong one day. But to be honest, I do not care about being alone and waiting for someone who will never arrive. I have found that love does not need to be reciprocated to be wonderful. The fact that the memories of him make my heart jump makes me happy enough.


Story by: bluepineapples


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