about a boy...

About a boy…

mom: “Which is easier, falling in love or falling out of love?”

me: “falling in love.”

mom: “why?”

me:”…because when you fall in love, you only know what you see and what you feel. It hits you fast or slow but that’s all you know. Falling out is hard, but not impossible. you’ll always have memories and more than what you see or feel. that’s when you think. you don’t think when you fall in love.”

This is how it started, how a simple question triggered me to write this.

I’ve been in a block, a horrible disease cursed on writers. this passion in every word I use to write about had a start. It was always about a boy. This muse and inspiration that believes in me more and more as the years go by. An ex-lover by society’s titles. A boy, who is now a man, that continues to this day to be there for me. Even at the end of the day, a boy who gives me the emotion I need to write. The courage to face my past, more strength to realize what I’ve accomplished, and the sense of a bigger purpose for myself in this universe.

I wish I could tell him the truth, this horrible tangle of secrets.

Because regardless of technicalities, he told me the truth about her and killed me worse than imagined.

Because of technicalities, I never told him about them. There was no title in my situations, no one died.

I want to start from the beginning, when I first laid eyes on him 6 years ago when we were just strangers, to lovers, to friends, to a love that expired the use of labels.

how I used guys, and how I may have mentioned names but he never knew it all. Never knew who I slept with, who I kissed, who was there to help me forget him. It’s silly for this to even come up, it shouldn’t be an issue…yet it is.

I can’t fall out of love no matter how hard I try. No matter whose bed I wake up in.

I woke up in his bed this morning.
I woke up easily. no guilt. No dirt to be washed from my hands. I keep these little details hidden and tied the ends I needed and cut some along the way. That was easy for me. They were all there to help me forget. To replace. I wanted to feel, if I may be honest. I wanted to feel something new and took a piece from everyone I could.
…but in his bed. I felt new. A new feeling that evolved from the old. A new feeling that could only come from a previous one and no other replacement could get me that high.
Nothing else mattered on that mattress. I could count to you the problems that happened that day. The world fell apart, luck struck down…and there we were.
…because nothing else mattered.

The look I gave my mother, was a look she understood. She knew who I talked about when I looked down, replaying incidents in my head to produce those words. They all know who every word was written for, and the obvious battle in this war of love. When he showed up today, the murmurs and the assumptions that I felt from them couldn’t shake this smile that will carry me on to sleep.

She knows me well, my mother…she knew who I spoke about as my eyes looked down, desperately searching the back of my memories for a distraction. For reassurance…for him.

She knew it was about a boy…


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