I Had the Best of Intentions All Along
'You remind me of August...'
I remember writing that song for you. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. How do you put something like that into words without making it obvious? I didn’t want it to be obvious. I wanted you to know and no one else. It was hard. But you knew. You knew right away. A few people caught on just because of your reaction whenever it came on.
But that didn’t bother me.
Because it was hidden to most even if it was out there for everyone.
It never bothered me to have to keep our relationship a secret. Because the people that mattered knew. I don’t see the reason for a relationship to be public if the people that matter know. Not that there’s a problem with a relationship being public. But I just don’t think it’s necessary.
I think you liked it just because you could act single. You could flirt and smile and say things that you couldn’t normally say. At least other people would think that. It didn’t bother me. Most of the time. Some things you shouldn’t say in front of me at least. You never understood that. It was you. I forgave it.
I wrote the song in February. It was freezing in Chicago. You had just called me. You were coming to see me in a few days. Right after a friend’s birthday party. Meaning right after you got stoned off your ass. So I wrote, not necessarily a happy song even if it was a love song, but a song about something . . . real. Because love isn’t a fairy tale.
I wrote about July, even though I changed it to August. When we almost broke up. When you were screaming at me. And my tears had subsided by then and I was just staring at you in cold anger. You were screaming about how it was bullshit and everyone knew you didn’t mean it. Ryan and Pete were the only ones in the room, but I remember their expressions perfectly. Then Pete chimed in with a ’don’t say things you don’t mean’. You nearly punched him. Ryan had to grab your arm. You’d never raise a hand to Ryan. He was like your kid brother.
It was probably the worst night of my life. You stormed off and I knew you were going to drink, get high, flirt your ass off. I was afraid you would cheat. I didn’t know if we were still together. I went to our bedroom. Ryan followed me. He didn’t hold me. It would have been weird. But he slept with me that night, talked about anything but us the whole time. Until I fell asleep. When I woke up he was there, sleeping, drooling on your pillow.
You came back that afternoon. You grunted in my direction. We didn’t talk. Pete had slept on the couch. Ryan and Pete talking kept us sane. Otherwise our silence toward each other would have driven us crazy. You slept in our bed that night, but I didn’t. I fell asleep next to Ryan on the couch watching a movie.
The day after that brought the apologies. You cried. You had said things you weren’t proud of. Things it took me awhile to forget, but eventually I forgave. We kissed, but we didn’t have sex. Which was unusual for us. We almost always had make up sex. But it didn’t seem right. We were already so exposed to each other that losing clothes would have brought out things we didn’t need. Not then.
I wrote about what Ryan had said about three months into you and I dating. We were alone, drinking and talking about things we never would have dared to sober. He told me things about Brendon that I never wanted to know. That lead to me and you. And he confessed to me that he didn’t think Brendon and he could ever had what we had. He thought you and I were cut from the same cloth. He’s the one who used the phrase, what would become the title. That’s how he knew what the song was about. But I didn’t care about Ryan knowing. I figured he would decipher it fast enough anyway. I mean, it’s Ryan.
You showed up when I was writing the second verse. I picked you up at the airport. I was sitting on a bench waiting for you, but I didn’t even notice you walk down the hall because I was chewing on my pen and thinking desperately for the next line. I think you resented it. You and I write differently. You didn’t understand even though you tried to pretend you did.
I remember you asking to read it in the car. You looked almost angry when I said no. You certainly didn’t talk for the rest of the car ride back to my place. We had sex when we got home and I fell asleep after like I normally do. When I woke up I found you rifling through my desk looking for the notebook. We fought loudly. Screamed.
You were so convinced it was something bad, something terrible. But I didn’t want you to read it. I wanted you to hear it. And it wasn’t finished. That made it seem even more real than it actually was. You stormed out and came back with a bottle of vodka which you drank straight in front of me. You didn’t notice me fighting tears the whole time.
The second verse was about the first time we had sex. I think you think it was about the time we got engaged and broke it off a few days later. But it was about sex. I can’t believe that we managed to wait out two weeks before we fucked. I’d never been with a guy before. I lied about that right up until we were naked in the bed. You almost backed out.
You said words that I don’t even remember. Something about how it wouldn’t change us and you would try not to make it hurt because you didn’t want me to remember our first time as ’fuck that hurt’. I don’t know how the lyrics came out of that really, but it makes sense to me.
The refrain is about the engagement. You asked in June. While were on tour. In a hotel room. We were watching a movie. I don’t remember what it was. Some thing about an ancient war. You turned to me suddenly, dead serious and asked. Or said first, then asked. ’We should get married. I love you. Do you want to?’
I hesitated before I said yes. I didn’t think marriage was right for us, but I figured it couldn’t hurt us. So I said yes. Fucking amazing sex, Gabe. I didn’t know you could last that long.
Three days after we took it back. Mutually. We were on the bus, both of us in a bunk. Talking quietly because Victoria was sleeping. ’I thought about it,’ you said, ’and maybe—’
’—it’s not for us?’ I finished.
Your eyes were so sad. I remember clasping your hands so tight. ’But I love you. I-It doesn’t make sense.’
’It does.’ I told you. I meant it.
And we just lay there like that.
I finished the song in March. I remember the first time you heard it. It wasn’t ceremonious. I didn’t put it on a disc by itself and hand it to you. I didn’t even tell you it was for you, about you, about us. We were just listening to the new record. It was on shuffle so that it wouldn’t play first. I didn’t want it to play first.
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even look at me. Halfway through you grabbed my hand. I leaned my head on your shoulder and you kissed my hair.
It did something to us, that song. Off tour you barely spent any time in Jersey. We fought more, but they were bickering arguments. We always made up right after. You smoked pot less. I found little gifts everywhere.
We loved more.
That was the most important.
We loved more.
But that didn’t bother me.
Because it was hidden to most even if it was out there for everyone.
It never bothered me to have to keep our relationship a secret. Because the people that mattered knew. I don’t see the reason for a relationship to be public if the people that matter know. Not that there’s a problem with a relationship being public. But I just don’t think it’s necessary.
I think you liked it just because you could act single. You could flirt and smile and say things that you couldn’t normally say. At least other people would think that. It didn’t bother me. Most of the time. Some things you shouldn’t say in front of me at least. You never understood that. It was you. I forgave it.
I wrote the song in February. It was freezing in Chicago. You had just called me. You were coming to see me in a few days. Right after a friend’s birthday party. Meaning right after you got stoned off your ass. So I wrote, not necessarily a happy song even if it was a love song, but a song about something . . . real. Because love isn’t a fairy tale.
I wrote about July, even though I changed it to August. When we almost broke up. When you were screaming at me. And my tears had subsided by then and I was just staring at you in cold anger. You were screaming about how it was bullshit and everyone knew you didn’t mean it. Ryan and Pete were the only ones in the room, but I remember their expressions perfectly. Then Pete chimed in with a ’don’t say things you don’t mean’. You nearly punched him. Ryan had to grab your arm. You’d never raise a hand to Ryan. He was like your kid brother.
It was probably the worst night of my life. You stormed off and I knew you were going to drink, get high, flirt your ass off. I was afraid you would cheat. I didn’t know if we were still together. I went to our bedroom. Ryan followed me. He didn’t hold me. It would have been weird. But he slept with me that night, talked about anything but us the whole time. Until I fell asleep. When I woke up he was there, sleeping, drooling on your pillow.
You came back that afternoon. You grunted in my direction. We didn’t talk. Pete had slept on the couch. Ryan and Pete talking kept us sane. Otherwise our silence toward each other would have driven us crazy. You slept in our bed that night, but I didn’t. I fell asleep next to Ryan on the couch watching a movie.
The day after that brought the apologies. You cried. You had said things you weren’t proud of. Things it took me awhile to forget, but eventually I forgave. We kissed, but we didn’t have sex. Which was unusual for us. We almost always had make up sex. But it didn’t seem right. We were already so exposed to each other that losing clothes would have brought out things we didn’t need. Not then.
I wrote about what Ryan had said about three months into you and I dating. We were alone, drinking and talking about things we never would have dared to sober. He told me things about Brendon that I never wanted to know. That lead to me and you. And he confessed to me that he didn’t think Brendon and he could ever had what we had. He thought you and I were cut from the same cloth. He’s the one who used the phrase, what would become the title. That’s how he knew what the song was about. But I didn’t care about Ryan knowing. I figured he would decipher it fast enough anyway. I mean, it’s Ryan.
You showed up when I was writing the second verse. I picked you up at the airport. I was sitting on a bench waiting for you, but I didn’t even notice you walk down the hall because I was chewing on my pen and thinking desperately for the next line. I think you resented it. You and I write differently. You didn’t understand even though you tried to pretend you did.
I remember you asking to read it in the car. You looked almost angry when I said no. You certainly didn’t talk for the rest of the car ride back to my place. We had sex when we got home and I fell asleep after like I normally do. When I woke up I found you rifling through my desk looking for the notebook. We fought loudly. Screamed.
You were so convinced it was something bad, something terrible. But I didn’t want you to read it. I wanted you to hear it. And it wasn’t finished. That made it seem even more real than it actually was. You stormed out and came back with a bottle of vodka which you drank straight in front of me. You didn’t notice me fighting tears the whole time.
The second verse was about the first time we had sex. I think you think it was about the time we got engaged and broke it off a few days later. But it was about sex. I can’t believe that we managed to wait out two weeks before we fucked. I’d never been with a guy before. I lied about that right up until we were naked in the bed. You almost backed out.
You said words that I don’t even remember. Something about how it wouldn’t change us and you would try not to make it hurt because you didn’t want me to remember our first time as ’fuck that hurt’. I don’t know how the lyrics came out of that really, but it makes sense to me.
The refrain is about the engagement. You asked in June. While were on tour. In a hotel room. We were watching a movie. I don’t remember what it was. Some thing about an ancient war. You turned to me suddenly, dead serious and asked. Or said first, then asked. ’We should get married. I love you. Do you want to?’
I hesitated before I said yes. I didn’t think marriage was right for us, but I figured it couldn’t hurt us. So I said yes. Fucking amazing sex, Gabe. I didn’t know you could last that long.
Three days after we took it back. Mutually. We were on the bus, both of us in a bunk. Talking quietly because Victoria was sleeping. ’I thought about it,’ you said, ’and maybe—’
’—it’s not for us?’ I finished.
Your eyes were so sad. I remember clasping your hands so tight. ’But I love you. I-It doesn’t make sense.’
’It does.’ I told you. I meant it.
And we just lay there like that.
I finished the song in March. I remember the first time you heard it. It wasn’t ceremonious. I didn’t put it on a disc by itself and hand it to you. I didn’t even tell you it was for you, about you, about us. We were just listening to the new record. It was on shuffle so that it wouldn’t play first. I didn’t want it to play first.
You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even look at me. Halfway through you grabbed my hand. I leaned my head on your shoulder and you kissed my hair.
It did something to us, that song. Off tour you barely spent any time in Jersey. We fought more, but they were bickering arguments. We always made up right after. You smoked pot less. I found little gifts everywhere.
We loved more.
That was the most important.
We loved more.