Unwelcome
His heart said to mine, “Welcome inside! It’s empty here, you can take up all the space you need!” Both hearts were a little rusty, but kisses and looks worked wonders. The rustiness slowly faded away.
It’s been one year, two kisses, and innumerable glances later – and I’m alone.
“We have to take this slow,” you said.
“Very slow,” I replied. But, as your cousin told you, there’s a difference between pace and stillness.
That’s the peculiar thing about you. You like to move. Constantly, physically move. You love everything about the movement – the way the breeze feels in your hair, the feeling in your heart whenever your eyes discover something new, the cuts and bruises you get while climbing up mountains. But the emotional movement – you would never be able to deal with that.
Matters of the heart have always been my Achilles’ heel. I fell in love once, and have been attempting to ever since.
With you it was different. We clicked in a way that couples do after years of marriage. Words were rarely spoken, but the comfort that words usually bring was there anyway. You looked at me when you had no idea who I was. You didn’t need me to speak, you enjoyed sitting and staring at nothing.
Suddenly, without concrete warning, your heart shut down. You left me, and I became more alone than I was initially.
Every time I see you, I want to hurt you as much as you hurt me. I want you to feel as unwelcome in my life as I know I am in yours. Yet, I still dream of the day that you’ll glance at me the way you did a year ago, and just for a fragment of a second, you’ll again make me feel like the most special thing in this world.
