by January Nelson
"Confession Re: Several Men I loved"
It’s been years since you moved and years since we’ve meant something to one another but I still frantically contact my closest friends whenever we pass each other on the street by chance. I’m inclined to believe that the way you continue to find me in this crowded city after all this time means something, even though I know better.
When I think about the You I used to know and the You that you’ve become, I know it would’ve never worked out. And of all my recurring thoughts, this is perhaps the most accidentally comforting.
Once, we sat side-by-side in a restaurant booth and I told you the song “Stuck in the Middle with You” reminded me of us; but when I tried to explain why and began to dissect the lyrics I learned the song is about superficiality and putting on airs and not about love — not about us — and felt lost for three or four minutes after that.
The day we shunned the sunlight and stayed in bed drinking beer and watching movies is still one of my favorite days, even if the memory is ancient and the people who experienced it no longer exist.
We ran into each other one Sunday morning years ago — you looked aged and unhappy and confused and I’ve been so worried about you ever since.
I wasted my favorite song on you; I wish I’d never heard it until after we stopped knowing each other.
If we met for the first time today, I would do everything differently.
The way you challenged me was so rare and rewarding that I’m afraid I’ll spend my future looking for someone who is half the person you are — and I’ll fail. The bar you’ve set is frighteningly high and when I look down from it, I feel nauseous.
My inability to hate you excites me more than it frightens me.
There is not enough anything between us to warrant a friendship, and I don’t feel bad about it.
I don’t have as much trouble remembering the good times we had together as I let on. Somehow, our breakup doesn’t have the power to overshadow what were pretty moments between two people who began and ended as strangers.
My friends couldn’t understand what I saw in you and while I can’t put my finger on it now, I can say with confidence that their constant disapproval couldn’t have dissuaded me back then. I’m not sure if this says something about how much I loved you or about how narrow and ignorant I can be when I want someone badly enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment