If You Weren’t Straight
I can see us, curled on the couch the way my brothers and their girlfriends always are. You would take your big hands and pull me close. I would look into your soft, blue eyes. Your big lips gently brushing mine as we would share our first kiss. My hand would linger up to your brown hair, always the perfect length. My heart thunders, and I can’t think. Nothing I did prepared me for this moment, at least that’s how I think about it; every day. It’s been two and a half years, and I’m not over you. The funny thing is, you and I never, ever, shared chemistry. I got carried away in my head, and it was all my fault. The world I created existed only in my head. That’s the sad reality.
I remember how it started, me liking you. It was back in 8th grade. Right after my mistake on Valentines day. We had dance together last year, and that was akward. She had a crush on you, and that’s how we met. I asked you your name, as the first words we ever said to each other. The look you gave rolled off my shoulder, back then. Later, that look would sink daggers into my heart, but you deserved to give it to me. I remember, I liked your face first, then your frame. You had the build of a baseball player; after all, that’s what you were. But it was your smile that captivated me, it seemed to creep onto your face, like a clever fox creeps into a town. It had a calm confidence to it, as though it belonged. It was a facade, for kindly clever intentions. Your hands were bigger than mine. I know that from watching you play basketball. I can still feel them gently pulling mine into them. Not that it ever happened, at least, not in reality. In my world, it happened all the time. It was the kind of thing I see with other people, other couples I mean. They always want to spend time with each other. I wanted to spend time with you. In my other world, you wanted that too. Now, you probably don’t even want me writing this. You’d think I’m over stepping, writing about you. If you only knew the things I wrote you in my world. Oh, the joy I could bring you, as I read what my heart felt. I can remember, me and you, at the park, a picture perfect picnic laid out on the hill. Our plates, empty, the basket, empty as well. The blanket, a white and red checker pattern, seemlessly laid on the impossibly green grass. You and I would be laying there, propped up by one arm, your eyes, a green? Or were they brown? I don’t recall, but they would be locked on mine. I would gaze at them, as you would sneak your hand onto mine. I would glance down, blush, and and timidly gaze back at you. I’d probably have something on my cheek that you would brush off with your loving hands. Or maybe you’d just say that to touch me. Then, as though on impulse, you would kiss me. It would be like any storybook moment. It was my biggest dream.Until I realised:
You are straight, and deserve more than me.