Can't Write This Without You

I Can't Write This Without You


Everything is more beautiful in the dark.

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This is for the girl with the dark hair and big dark eyes who disrupted my peace. I was just sitting there, glancing around at the abundance of people around me, when she shyly asked,

"Can I sit here?"

And her friends had left her, and everyone was fighting. And middle school was so close to over, why not pretend to have one more perfect moment?

Is it possible to love somebody in an instant? I think I might have.
And then you switched seats, and I was far too sad than was warranted for the situation.

And then we were blended, molded into friendship by the dance floor. It worked wonders on us, two lost souls who couldn't do it alone, but found no other solace. We found our trust in each other in only a few solid hours, merely more than strangers before that night. The lights, the music, the movement all brought us together.

This is for sleeping over your house when I'd barely spoken to you more than five times. When we returned home from the long, tiring trip to the mall we hit your kitchen like nobody's business. We tore it to shreds, devouring spaghetti, and later, bowls of ice cream.

For skinny people, we sure could eat.

This is for crawling across your bedroom floor, sleeping together in a tight space, confiding in each other. It's for telling your secrets to somebody you just became friends with. You trusted me that night with your biggest secret...

...And I would understand more than you knew...

You were you, and she was your best friend. But you loved her more than that. But you also had a boyfriend--and didn't know why you were with him. For that night, I was your shoulder to cry on, your advice guru, the one who could tell you that I understood. We were so close that night under the cover of darkness with the weight of honest secrets on our shoulders.

It was only fitting for friendship to ensue.

We would have been great, had it lasted longer than it did. I was there when you finally told her. And I wasn't shocked to learn that she felt the same way--I'd seen it her eyes, her nervous gestures, her breathless conversations with you.

What surprised me was that I cared. That I cared because I felt something, too: for you.

We all spent time together, the three of us. I was there when your mother found out, forbidding you two to even be in the same room other than school. You would cry and I would make sure that you knew everything would be okay. I was there when your mother finally started to ease up, to love you again. I knew things would get better, they always do.

But then everything was changing. It wasn't you, nor me, nor her. It was everyone. Slowly, we saw each other less, growing apart by the day as I found comfort elsewhere.  You made a 180 degree turn--the two of you broke up, you were back with that boy, you didn't want to see me.

And so I moved on. It was only weeks before I had claimed a new best friend.

History repeats itself again.

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This is for the one I'd always loved, from that vital day at the park when we were forced to make a bond. Little kids must be friends, if they're anywhere close to the same age range. I wore all yellow, and you wore a striped shirt.

We spent hours together. Not even, years.

All the time I was following you. You were the role model, as ridiculous as that sounds. We laughed together, cried together, and screamed together. We laughed at each other, cried about each other, and screamed at each other.

It was only fitting that one day, I would feel something else.

I remember the day well, you and your brother's philosophies. He always knew everything about anything before we did. That's when you handed me the diary with your secret. And scattered the notes around my house--I had to find them, put the pieces together.

It spelled my name. You had feelings for me.

First date, second date, third date. Gazebo's, roller blades, secrets, hands, running, jumping, laughing... telling? When we decided to tell her, that tore apart everything. Jealousy is an ugly monster, especially from a close friend.

We were never the same again.

This is for the years that passed between us, for the silent gaps at sleepovers that could never be filled. And the times we lay awake in darkness, me still thinking about us, about what had happened, and what could have. I find it's difficult to let go of something that almost-was.

This is the moment, at the beach, in the sand, when it hit me once again, clear and real this time. This was it; this was me. I tried to keep it to myself, and for months I succeeded, until it returned with a vengeance.

We were trying again--we had to. It was only the way to do it, of course. This time, we were honest. I expected the same reactions, but was pleasantly surprised by almost everyone.

Key chains, love letters, merry-go-rounds, swans named Phillip, board-walks, holding hands across the seat of a rental car, matching skirts, Skittles, promises, first kiss, second kiss, rainy kiss, Burger King...

Then came the party. Early on. The truth,

"I like someone. His name--"

We were over before anything could even be started. When you left that day, the same person I had once resented was the one most there for me. We spent the night running, swimming, dancing, drinking root beet and playing ball until three in the morning.

The next day, I threw up, over and over again.

It took quite some time to forgive you, to go back to that girl who talked to you about crushes and gushed over new clothes. I had realized one thing: going back for a do-over doesn't mean it will work out.

History repeats itself again.

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This is for the party when we first started talking. You were the one in the corner, loud and fun, but not really attached to anyone. You were prank calling poison control, asking what to do if you swallowed a cap full of bleach. They told you to drink milk.

"Milk?" you were repeating, slightly offended. They weren't taking you seriously.

I struck up conversation under the dim lights, with my bright outfit and false confidence. It went easily from there.

Friends to crush. But then I realized you had a girlfriend. Yet another unattainable failure.

This is for several weeks later, when you asked me if you could change your mind. I still have the note, full of your words telling me how great I was and where I could meet you after school.

I met you there, thinking I was ready. I wasn't.

This is for movie dates, for donuts at the store you loved, for walking up hills to family houses, for bad impressions, for freaking out, for being late, and for crying. This is for every second that I wasted.

First kiss--not memorable. Second kiss--I wanted it to be better. Subsequent kisses--still not satisfied.

The result was quick, painless, and expected. We broke up, and you were never what I thought you would be. But I had learned a lesson: never trust an old-fashioned person.

History repeats itself again.

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That's where it all started, for the most part. Learning lessons, with each lesson another way not to trust anyone.

People are beautiful in the dark. You can't see their features. You can only see their soul, and how it really shines through.

Brilliant, like the stars.
I can't write this without you.


To be continued------