Something

Our first hangout, smelling of honeysuckle; your silky white golden doodle licked my face, telling me how welcome I was, and your brother shook my hand and smiled at me not out of politeness but because he was meeting his little sister's new best friend.

I was worried it would be awkward and it would take time for us to warm up to the stranger of each other. We took a walk, and I don’t remember if we had coffee or not (we would every other time we took a walk later on) but we talked about things, and I felt comfortable. The words came out of my mouth like melted caramel, easy and sweet. My heart felt at rest, and we went on for ten hours. I remember thinking to myself, this day is lavender.

We went to play Mario Kart with your brother. I talked to him about college and music. I lost the race by a long shot as I would every single time we played your switch. I felt comfortable on the couch with you, not self conscious about being barefoot or if my toes smelled without socks. That same night when I went to sleep I had a dream about you; you and I were in my bed, you the big spoon, me the little spoon, and it was warm and natural. We fit into each others' nooks so seamlessly.

I sensed that you had feelings for me too, when you hugged me from behind and rested your chin on my head; when you pinched my cheeks one swimmingly hot afternoon and told me that I was adorable, when I felt like greasy and sunscreen slathered; when I was laying on the football field before an afternoon rehearsal, existential dread of three prospective hours of marching ahead of me, and you stared at me like I was something special and rare, and told me how beautiful my eyes were.

It was good and beautiful. Even when it wasn't good, it was good. Even when I left hangouts, crying violently every time I drove away from your picket-fence neighborhood because I felt empty without you, thinking "This is not how it's supposed to feel--" it was good. D, I would've given my heart and soul to spend the rest of my life loving you. I would've dedicated my whole existence to loving the pain and sadness out of you. I would've destroyed myself to be fuel for a brighter sun in your sky--and I did, and it was euphoric, and painful, and numbing, and rapturous.

I can't, no matter how hard I try, forget sipping our signature Vanilla Lattes (with honey, of course) while covered in soil dust. Taking our shoes off in the lobby of that hotel on the school trip as we talked and smile into each others' eyes until curfew. That freezing cold football game where we hugged and took my all-time favorite photo of us together, both of is in our matching blue hoodies, my cheeks pink from the cold, you tall and warm above me smiling down at the camera. Exploding in laughter and rolling around like lunatics on the football field before the sun had even come up in the morning. Laying under the stars with you in the middle of the stadium and feeling like it was something monumental.

I edited your college essays and cradled your tears as you put your whole being into your future--one that I had no doubt I'd be a part of. I visited your google docs, back and forth, back and forth, helping you polish your humanity for admissions councils. You held me as my skeleton trembled in fear of the mundane because every sunrise and sunset felt like the end of the world. I answered the phone to you crying because of your mother's unloving words and I made you laugh when you never thought you'd laugh again.

I'd wait for you forever. I knew that more certainly than I knew myself. I knew that more certainly than I knew my existence to be true. If there were anybody worth waiting for, it was you. I even waited when you wanted me to go. But--

"Who are you texting?"

"Nobody," I whisper, shutting my phone off and dropping it into the lap that you'd sleep on late at night after long days of band. Where I'd stroked your hair when you didn't know what to do with the feelings and the exhaustion and the intricacies of existence. Where I held your head as you sobbed because you were terrified of being in love with me but you knew you were feeling something for me. Something.

"Nobody," I repeat quietly, selecting all of the text, and clicking [delete] as the tears and the memories I have of you retreat to the little golden box from India that lives in my chest. The one you gave me for Valentines Day. It has the red ruby earring with pearls dangling from it lying inside. The matching earring got lost when it began to rain, while we were gardening together. When I found out I lost it, I was inconsolable. An earring. A piece of you. And therefore a piece of me. Beautiful, but washed far away somewhere I'd likely never see.

I won't open the box for a long time now; it hurts too much.

After all, what do you do with the entirety of another person inside of you? What do you do with the honest words muttered in sleep and the raw ugly parts of human emotions? What do you do with the feeling of kissing your dog on the nose and being welcomed into the arms of your family. What do I do with the clothes your mom made me for Diwali? What do I do with the 404 photos of us together I have in our album, that my phone taunts me with in my featured photos every day? Who comprises my memories now? What do I do with the phantom feeling of your fingers stroking mine as we hold hands? What, where, how, for God's sake, can I put this love?

But it's still beautiful.

I still love it.

I still love you.