installment 7: how love works

to the guy who never let me speak my mind

You don’t know me anymore & I think it’s better for both of us if you don’t pretend like you do. It’s been a long time. You know me a year & a half ago, you know pieces of my heart, but truth be told, you don’t know me anymore. & ultimately, I hope those words don’t surprise you. I’ve just done a lot of growing since we’ve parted & I know you have, too. I don’t claim to know you either.

I wasn’t hurt when you didn’t tell me you were in town the first time (or the second) & I wasn’t hurt when you didn’t write me back a May ago (or in March). I knew you wouldn’t & I honestly preferred if you didn’t. 

What did hurt was when I felt like you started pretending like we were friends or that I could ever look at you & not mourn the two years of “we need to talk” & “don’t look at me like that”. I was hurt when your name was popping up on my phone again like it hadn’t been months of radio silence—I had gotten so used to & comfortable with your lack of place in my life that I didn’t want to go back. I was happy with where I was & I am happy where I am & you are in neither of those spaces. I wanted to forget about the nights I spent thinking about you, the dates I went on wishing they were with you, & the journal entries I had written that were solely about you. I got so sick of writing your name I stopped. The spaces where it would’ve been started being filled with “the boy”; anything to rid my pages of you. I don’t think you realized at the time, but I had been desperately trying to pull away from you for the last months we were around each other, but external forces kept bringing me back.

However, what hurt me the most was when you were growing in ways I couldn’t understand & ways I didn’t think were good for you (I wasn’t alone in that, by the way, but I knew it wasn’t my place to say anything). The growth you experience has nothing to do with me & I have absolutely no right to dictate what’s best for you & what isn’t. I know that. At the end of the day, I was just missing you at mass & would sometimes sit in the pews praying you’d walk in again. Sacred Heart Chapel only got lonelier for me as time went on. 

All of this is to say—I can check the analytics of my website & can see the cities of everyone who goes on it. While I think it’s a little creepy & I don’t usually check it, I have been recently because I’ve been posting about “Everyday Feelings” & wanted to see how my installments were doing.

I never expected to see your hometown. 

& when I did, an unexpected wave of guilt hit me. 

This wasn’t the first time I had seen a specific location pop up on my analytics immediately letting me know who had been clicking around. There are other boys I’ve written about who have seen the words I write about my feelings (or lack thereof) for them, it doesn’t bother me & I usually don’t feel that weird about it. My ex-boyfriend & I are fine & I’m still really good friends with a boy I used to have feelings for. I’m sure my ex doesn’t care (it’s been a long time) & my friend’s ego likes the reminder he’s occasionally my muse for the sweet nothings I scream into the void that my website feels like.

But there was something about seeing your hometown that made my stomach drop. Made me text one of our mutual friends for advice, made me think about reaching out to you to explain myself. I have never felt weird about other guys reading my words, but for whatever reason, it’s different with you. I felt chaotic; those “I’m not in control” feelings came flooding back. You don’t follow me on the accounts I talk about what I’m creating, so there was a part of me that never expected you to see any of it at all.

So, I guess this is me explaining myself, speaking my mind. I hope you recognize (as a fellow artist) (I hope you still feel like an artist; I will never stop believing in you), nothing I have ever written is for you. Nothing I write is about you. Nothing I do is any reflection of you. What I say & what I write are about me, even when they’re “about you”. When I write about how I’ve been hurt by you, that hurt is mine. When I write about the love I held for you, that is my love. I am the center of my writings & my stories because I am the one who is writing & telling them. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I hold firm in the idea you should never let a writer fall in love with you—they will turn you into art & art can last forever. You once told me I’m an incredibly warm & loving person, I hope you still believe that.

That being said, this is for you. This is (part of) my side of the conversation I asked from you multiple times but never got. This is part of the closure I wanted, but you didn’t have the courage to give me.

the other boy

I was in the shower the other day thinking about my college love life & the three guys who truly helped me shape my ideas of love, etc, etc, when I realized I had completely forgotten about someone.

My junior year of college I loved this guy even though I didn’t want to (see “To the Guy Who Never Let Me Speak My Mind”) & I got so sick of loving him I started hanging out with someone else (despite my better judgement) (& multiple poeple telling me not to). My friends were so used to me talking about Boy A that when Boy B came around I suddenly found myself saying “no, the other boy” whenever they would get confused about who I was talking about.

& I guess what’s all he was to me. The other boy. I can’t say much else about it.

All I really remember is that he kissed me in five different bars & one time we dramatically left a house party together & ran down Zitola Terrace holding hands just to lay in his bed & watch SNL skits all night like a true coming-of-age movie.

It was in those moments I realized sometimes a boy can take you out on a Wednesday night, buy you drinks & do photo booths with you on Thursday, & kiss you all night on Friday, but on Saturday you could still be the girl who leaves the party crying about the boy you actually love not loving you back.

THE SPACE BETWEEN

This boy I know was with a girl once, but I was sad, so I texted him anyway. It was 10:25 on a Tuesday night. He said he wasn’t busy, left her house, & told me to come over. “I just feel like I haven’t seen you”.

He biked home from her house, but I beat him. He walked up to my car window & asked me if I was okay (even though he knew I wasn’t). I said that I’d get better & he said, “you always do”.

We sat in his bedroom for a bit & I listened to him play his piano. He asked me what was wrong & I told him bits & pieces; I said I called him because he’s the only person who doesn’t make me cry. I still don’t know how he manages to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry.

We took my car to Culver City. I let him drive because I trust him, but usually when I tell him that he says I shouldn’t. So I guess a part of me doesn’t. I guess?

While he was driving us down Lincoln Blvd, I asked him what was on his heart. A part of me wanted him to say “you”. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he finished his thought by looking at me, smiling, & asking: “should I not say things like that?” I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean.

At a red light, he asked me why we don’t see each other every day like we used to & I knew it was because of her, but I told him I thought the distance was good for us. Truthfully, I didn’t realize he missed me at all. After a moment he turned to me, paused, & said “I had so much fun with you on Friday night. When you walked into the room…everything got better”.

Friday had been Valentine’s Day. We had dinner at his house with a couple of our friends. I had finally started having fun with him again after a few weeks of...not having fun? During a moment alone, despite our better judgment (my better judgment), we started slow dancing in his kitchen. I told him we were being stupid & that stupid is a waste of time, but he hugged me so long & so tightly when I left that I almost didn’t.

He parked my car & we walked into Yogurtland. He said it was a date & paid. I let him because I’m an idiot. We sat, ate frozen yogurt, & talked on a curb, but we eventually grew quiet. One of those moments where you’re not sure if the silence is good or bad, time starts going slower & your thoughts start going faster. I started wondering if we had finally run out of things to talk about; if this was the end. I figured he had a lot on his mind & I figured none of it was about me.

I asked him if he was okay. He said he hadn’t talked to anyone about it & he wasn’t sure if I the person he should talk to if he talked to anyone. I pretended like I didn’t care & asked him if he was thinking about her. “I mean, yeah”.

With him, I either wanted to be something or be nothing & I grew tired of floating in the space between what he loved & what he didn’t need. That’s not where I belong & was not where I wanted to be. I had done it with another boy before & I didn’t want it again. He knew I was exhausted. We sat on a bench one day & agreed we were nothing, but I’m not sure if either of us truly believed it.

I told him he could talk to me about anything, that if we wanted to just be friends we had to act like actual friends. But we settled back into silence & he didn’t say a word about her & I was glad he didn’t. I didn’t want him to tell me about her at all.

We finished our frozen yogurt & went to Rite-Aid. I couldn’t tell if I loved him or not. That’s a weird feeling...not knowing how you feel. He brought up the girl he was with before he was with me & I asked him why he wasn’t dating her. He got defensive: “what do you mean? you can’t just say that. you don’t get it”. I didn’t know what I meant, that’s not what I wanted anyway. & he was right, I didn’t get it. I still don’t.

He picked up Pop-Tarts & started telling me how they’re “different”. I nodded, I had nothing else to do. Then he said the cursed words I had heard before...“if I’ve met anyone within the last few months I would date…it would be you. If there was anyone right now...it would be you”. I just looked at him. I knew those words too well. If it’s anyone, it’s me, but it’s still not me. Again, I was exhausted. “Don’t say that”.

People who know us both tell me often that they’re jealous of how he looks at me & how he acts like I’m the only one in the room. How he loves me louder than anyone else we’re around & how there’s obviously something going on. But there isn’t. If it’s anyone, it’s me, but it’s not me.

& that’s just how it is. It’s not me. We can hold hands across campus, he can put his head on my shoulder at Ralph’s, & he can pretend to propose to me on an ice skating rink (& at church). It’s not me. He can tell me he’s praying for me, we can spoon on his bedroom floor, & he can even kiss me on my couch, but it’s not me.

We checked out & he drove us to the beach. We talked about how people always think we’re in love, or that something’s going on (emphasis on something). Whenever we run into someone together it’s always “I don’t wanna interrupt you guys” & “I’ll give you your alone time”. I turned to him & said “none of that is real” because I figured he would agree, but he didn’t. “Lizzie, it’s a little real”.

A few weeks before my little brother asked me if he was my boyfriend & after I said no, he said “you just seemed really happy when he was around. It was cool. We never get to see you happy like that”. I thought about that for a long time before I said anything about it. I didn’t want the boy I know to think it was a big deal. “My family just never sees me around my college friends, I’m happiest with college friends”. He had been thinking about it because he felt like it was a big deal, but I diminished it. He was right. My little brother sees my college friends all the time & he had never said anything like that before.

I told him I appreciate how I can be completely myself around him, how I don’t feel that way with everyone. He just understands me on a level I don’t usually feel understood. He said the same thing back to me. “I like that I can challenge you, I know that it’s what you want & that you like it”. Is that was this is? A challenge?

He parked my car & we looked at the ocean. I knew I was feeling something, but I didn’t say anything. He asked me what I thought when he said he wasn’t busy even though he was with her. I said I figured he’d say the same thing to her if he was with me. I wanted him to say he wouldn’t, but he whispered, “that’s fair”.

I looked at the ocean & he looked at me. I almost turned & kissed him. I’m glad I didn’t, but I thought about it. I still think about it. He asked me if I still loved the boy from last spring. I didn’t have anything to say. He had asked about the boy from last spring before. I never have anything to say about it. He eventually drove us to his house & we went back to his piano.

He doesn’t sing (without autotune). He says he’s not good at it, but he’ll sing to me anyway. He pulled out a post-it note & said he had written a song about me. I couldn’t tell if it was an important moment or if he sings to & writes songs about her, too. I only remember one line, “am I like all the rest?”.

I couldn’t tell if he meant if he was like all the other guys in my life who got close to something with me, but stayed nothing or if I thought of him the same way I think of all my other guy friends. I never asked him, it doesn’t matter. Either way, he’s not like all the rest & I know he knows that.

People usually don’t believe us when we say “we’re just friends” & sometimes I don’t think they should, but I will continue to say we are until I believe it. Sometimes I can’t even tell if I want to be. Friendship feels so mundane sometimes. Friendship?

He showed me pictures on his laptop from his show I had missed & I put my head on his shoulder. I told him I should go home, when I left my house my roommates knew something was wrong, but I just said I was going to see him without saying much else. It was late. It wasn’t Tuesday anymore.

I left his house at 1:44 AM & drove straight home to a quiet house & sleeping roommates. I looked at myself in my bathroom mirror, washed off my makeup, & crawled into bed. I realized I hadn’t taken a single picture & stared at my ceiling. If it’s anyone, it’s him, but I guess it’s not him.

I closed my eyes & realized that while I knew practically nothing about anything, I did know one thing. I knew one thing for sure.

I wasn’t sad anymore.