A Book I'm Going to Write
What's It Worth?
It replays in my head over and over and over again.
It's like a broken record, except it's not broken it's beautiful and I can't seem to get enough.
His tall figure in the darkness of that back room.
The way everything suddenly slowed down as I reached for his arm, all sounds of that frat house basement drained out by the overwhelming beating of my heart.
The literal click as we locked eyes, drunken gazes, knowing smiles.
The chorus- the way he leaned into me against that hard cement wall, the way our lips found each other so easily, how right it felt, the feeling of knowing that that was going to eventually occur.
A series of events: outside, upstairs, outside, his room.
His arm around my waist as we walked through the cold, his hand resting on the small of my back.
The way he smirked when I said "I hate you, this is the last time" because he knows its not the last time, even more he knows I know its not.
His body blocking the door playfully as I jokingly state that "I'm leaving, I'm going home now."
Only for him to finally say it, he wants me to stay. It's his choice now and he picks me, even just for the night.
Wearing his t-shirt, I was with him when he bought that one. I won't talk about it though because things were so different then. I wear his long athletic shorts too, I don't remember him wearing these though.
We are an entanglement of limbs, his hand brushes back my hair, my hand wraps around the back of his neck, he reaches and touches, I push down on his chest.
I don't want to forget anything about it, not a single moment or touch or word or kiss.
Not the way he lingered by as I danced in that basement, not the fact that we didn't sleep until 5 am, not how he lifted the covers so gently to let me in next to him, not the smell of his shirt, not his compliments, not the way he laughed when I asked if he was talking to anyone else, not the way he looked when he was asleep, not his warm whispers in my ear.
But what I don't necessarily want to remember, would be fine with forgetting, are the things I do not write down at first.
Walking into the basement to find him talking to another girl. Watching his kiss other girls, dance with them, so casually I have to wonder how many weekends he's done this before. The fact that he won't kiss me when the night is finally over, 5 am and there's no final kiss. The absence of his arm around me as we sleep, no closeness, no intimacy, just two bodies laying side by side. The instagram like that never comes, that makes me wonder if we're even friends and makes me question why he intentionally plays that game. But most of all- the fact that I am so in love with him that I am able to turn that night into a fairytale. Sitting here now, two days later, I realize it means nothing. It changes nothing. It was nothing. And it breaks my heart every time because to me it means everything. I miss him so much it scares me; what if I never stop missing him? I don't think I ever will. I thought the distance of being at school would help but it suddenly feels overwhelming. It emphasizes just how far he is from me, literally, figuratively, everything.
"I'm only doing this to prove a point, to prove I can have you whenever I want."
"You didn't need to prove that."
It's like a broken record, except it's not broken it's beautiful and I can't seem to get enough.
His tall figure in the darkness of that back room.
The way everything suddenly slowed down as I reached for his arm, all sounds of that frat house basement drained out by the overwhelming beating of my heart.
The literal click as we locked eyes, drunken gazes, knowing smiles.
The chorus- the way he leaned into me against that hard cement wall, the way our lips found each other so easily, how right it felt, the feeling of knowing that that was going to eventually occur.
A series of events: outside, upstairs, outside, his room.
His arm around my waist as we walked through the cold, his hand resting on the small of my back.
The way he smirked when I said "I hate you, this is the last time" because he knows its not the last time, even more he knows I know its not.
His body blocking the door playfully as I jokingly state that "I'm leaving, I'm going home now."
Only for him to finally say it, he wants me to stay. It's his choice now and he picks me, even just for the night.
Wearing his t-shirt, I was with him when he bought that one. I won't talk about it though because things were so different then. I wear his long athletic shorts too, I don't remember him wearing these though.
We are an entanglement of limbs, his hand brushes back my hair, my hand wraps around the back of his neck, he reaches and touches, I push down on his chest.
I don't want to forget anything about it, not a single moment or touch or word or kiss.
Not the way he lingered by as I danced in that basement, not the fact that we didn't sleep until 5 am, not how he lifted the covers so gently to let me in next to him, not the smell of his shirt, not his compliments, not the way he laughed when I asked if he was talking to anyone else, not the way he looked when he was asleep, not his warm whispers in my ear.
But what I don't necessarily want to remember, would be fine with forgetting, are the things I do not write down at first.
Walking into the basement to find him talking to another girl. Watching his kiss other girls, dance with them, so casually I have to wonder how many weekends he's done this before. The fact that he won't kiss me when the night is finally over, 5 am and there's no final kiss. The absence of his arm around me as we sleep, no closeness, no intimacy, just two bodies laying side by side. The instagram like that never comes, that makes me wonder if we're even friends and makes me question why he intentionally plays that game. But most of all- the fact that I am so in love with him that I am able to turn that night into a fairytale. Sitting here now, two days later, I realize it means nothing. It changes nothing. It was nothing. And it breaks my heart every time because to me it means everything. I miss him so much it scares me; what if I never stop missing him? I don't think I ever will. I thought the distance of being at school would help but it suddenly feels overwhelming. It emphasizes just how far he is from me, literally, figuratively, everything.
"I'm only doing this to prove a point, to prove I can have you whenever I want."
"You didn't need to prove that."