Fault Lines

Daniel,

Thanks, for everything.

If somebody asked if I loved you, I'd say yes without a second thought. I wouldn't argue, wouldn't object, wouldn't try and take back my three letter answer to the simplest of questions. Because you, my friend, have taught me not to lie. But I'm not so sure you'd say the same magnificent things about me.

Thank you, for bringing eyes made from swirling depths of milk chocolate into my world, framed by long lashes that made your dark orbs look almost cute. They had always bubbled and shined with a light I never had the pleasure of experiencing, almost as if someone had reached up and caught the stars, hiding them in your iris' for safe keeping.

Thank you, for sharing as much as that light as possible. I will never forget how your infectious laughter would always, sooner or later, have me joining in on your little giggle fit. The dimples that caved in near the edges of your soft lips during those moments, they were probably my favorite thing about you, other than the auburn ringlets that adorned your head. I always insisted that you keep your hair that way during the day, but you refused, reaching towards your flat iron with a stubborn expression I learned to adore.

Which leads me on to my next praise. Thanks, for being yourself - a boy with a hyper personality and a heart spiked with an ambitious faith; the evidence of things not seen. You never told a fib to me, not once. Remember the time we went and saw that new horror film that was being showcased for a midnight premiere, down at our favorite theater? It was terrible, it even made the buttered popcorn I was munching on taste terrible, it was truly that horrible of a movie. And not "horrible" in a good way.

While we were folding up our red-cushioned seats and throwing away our candy wrappers and soda containers, the two of us were quiet. But, once we both fell into our usual seats in my beat-up Toyota, you couldn't contain your complaints and giggles any longer. I tried to reason, claiming that is wasn't a complete catastrophe, but you hushed me with a loud laugh and continued your rant. Not once, Dan, have you lied to me (especially not about trips to the movie theater). Or so, that's what I thought.

Thank you, for slowly disconnecting yourself from our relationship, instead of all at once, and using subtle hints to indicate change. I was too blinded by what I assumed was love to comprehend these clues, these signals that you and I were no longer going to be "you and I."

Oblivious as I was, I walked inside our small apartment on East Side and Denver, adjacent to the Deli, on that sunny August afternoon. I guess I should've seen it coming, but the initial shock was too much to bare. Your body against another's? No, that wasn't right. Your plump mouth, molded with a boy's who wasn't me? Impossible.

Thank you, for not calling the next day, and instead leaving me completely alone with my thoughts, with my somanyfucking thoughts. I hoped you'd call, but I guess I was glad you didn't. Really, it didn't bother me as much as it should've. Did I also mention how good of a liar you have helped me become, Daniel?

Thank you, for ending everything - our future specifically, the one I dreamt up during times I let my mind run lose - with a simple, "I've found someone else." As if it wasn't already apparent to me after watching the scene unfolding before me nearly 24 hours earlier. Thanks, for shattering my already splintered heart into a trillion pieces in the least painful way possible.

Thank you, for meeting me under the willow tree near our elementary school's playground, the place we first met in second grade when a boy two years older than us threatened to beat me up. Remember how you protected me from the hits, darling? Remember how you told me that I didn't deserve any type of pain? Funny, how you're now the one inflicting it.

I wish I had called you after storming out of the apartment, demanding to know why you had been cheating and begging for you to love me again. I really do, but you changed your number. I guess I could've expressed all of my thoughts and feelings underneath that special tree of course, but I kept my mouth shut and my blue eyes trained on the bicyclists rushing by. I let you feed me more meaningless words that night, spoonful after spoonful, gently pushed past my mouth and shoved down my throat until I began to choke, my lungs drowning in your lies. Quickly, I excused myself, not bothering to reply when you called out a weak, "I love you," because you didn't ever actually love me, huh? You loved that other boy.

Thank you, for abandoning me like everyone else did, for leaving me with nightmares and a larger spectrum of demons in my head than ever before, who observed and critiqued my every move. Thank you, for ripping away your beautiful chuckle and swimming pool eyes I was willing to dive head first into. Thank you, for ruining my favorite television shows, now boring and meaningless without your side comments, and thanks again, for attaching a haunting memory to every piece of damn furniture in my home. Thank you, for transforming my life from a dull chalk painting to a vivid pastel work, with colors that burned against the canvas, and back again.

If somebody asked if I loved you, I'd lie. Just like you did.

Thanks, for nothing.
Phil