I told myself “never again.”
Fresh memories of rain getting soaked into a jacket I still have today. Deep cuts in a loud beating heart I could never put into words. A form of complex emotion barely introduced to myself as a young kid before I was thrust into roaring waves of angst and jealousy that crushed my spirit far before someone could send out a life raft. Mumbled words nobody cared to make out, like “I’m fine,” or “It’s not you,” and “Don’t worry.” A heart missing something vital I could never understand enough to replace. A certain hatred in my mind for every single choice I had made that ended with me here, writing to myself, in the past about what happened.
This version of me isn’t the one writing today. She’s young and naive—but her thoughts were mine and I can recall them. I can remember the feelings rushing through and what I believed I wanted. I told myself “never again.” It was a form of protecting what little trust I had left. “Never again,” I said, “Would I fall in love with someone like that.” I sealed away my heart before someone else could tear a second hole into it. “Never again,” I said, “Would I give myself to another.” It wasn’t just a declaration. It was acceptance. I believed I should never let myself love someone with everything like I had, but I also feared I’d never get the chance. That even if I found someone to pour my heart out to, that they’d likely never let me try. “Never again,” I said.
And now, I meet you.
It wasn’t then. Not even the day we first spoke together. Not the time we first message each other privately. Not even the first time I looked you in the eyes to tell you “I love you.” At that time, you were special. You were someone I could never have gotten to where I am without. At that time, “I love you” was an affirmation, not a promise. For you. And for me, in a selfish way.
I tried to tell myself I was better. That I was learning what friendship meant. I told myself that I was learning to find the love and care in myself before I search for someone to fill it for me. I pushed away the urges to think about it because all I wanted was to move on. To find deeper meaning in company. To imagine my comfort in this world defined by friends, by family, and by myself.
And that’s what I was with you. A friend. Someone I could smile and laugh with. Someone who’d be by my side as I’d be by yours. Nothing here changed. Even now you’re this same friend in my mind. You’re someone who makes me laugh. Someone who cheers me on. Someone who I get to enjoy the presence of whenever there’s time.
Even when we became something more, I held a distance between us. Letting you fall into my arms as I stroked your hair, but still pushing you softly as if to keep you away from my heart. A strange self preservation instinct that kept me from letting you take up the space by my chest, as if as soon as I did I’d feel an all too familiar pain and see her eyes staring back at me. Reminding me. Attacking me. Entrapping me.
But even when that self preservation was forgotten with each week that passed, I still put an arm in between us. Not for me, but you. Worried that my heart’s thorns would draw blood, or that my embrace would somehow crush you. It was still selfish. In all honesty, I know that it wouldn’t be my fault. I just didn’t want to let someone get hurt by getting close again. And I didn’t want that person to be you.
And then it felt like one day, after many hours by your side, the world began to fade away. A sunset that evening which gave us both privacy as we held each other and enjoyed the warmth where our bodies collided. Something inside me that day wasn’t the same as the year before. A slow change that built up with each evening we fell asleep together suddenly made my arm go numb. I felt my strength leaving my body. Not because I was getting weaker, but because I no longer felt a reason to exercise it. And slowly, I offered you a spot to lay your head against my chest.
And you did.
I felt my heart begin to pound. Even the bed below us and the sky sparkling with stars finally disappeared during that twilight. All that was left was me and you. I felt your head against my chest. Listened to your voice trail off and watched your breathing getting slower and slower as you drifted off to sleep. And slowly, with caution I’d never been able to rid myself of, I let my head drift down to lay on yours. I went quiet and listened to the slow and gentle rhythm of your heart. And finally, I quietly slipped away into a peaceful sleep.
In the morning, I felt my heart rate picking up before I had even opened my eyes. I looked down at you, peacefully lying in my lap, and shook you awake. Looking down at you with rosy cheeks as your eyes stared up at mine. I could have cried if not for the soft embrace of your arms still around my waist. I looked you in the eyes and took a deep breath.
The constant beating of my heart made me aware of just how painful it had been. The words I have could never describe the pounding in my chest or the way my mind reeled as I looked into your eyes. It was like every version of me from the past 5 years was dragging me down into my memories, bringing me back to that rainy day. I saw myself, young and naive, looking back at me. “Never again,” she told me with tears in her eyes. My body was shaking. Feeling in my fingers started to fade as I wasn’t even aware of what my arms were holding or where my body was seated. That younger me looked back with nothing but those words. “Never again.” She raised a hand, a judge ready to declare a verdict with a gavel in hand. For some reason, I couldn’t remember what she was thinking. Not anymore. I shook my head, letting the air in my lungs drift out as I felt the soft beating of a heart in my hands. Slowly, I watched as the rain let up and the world around me returned. I saw your eyes again, softly looking back at me. Waiting for me. I took another breath, and opened my mouth.
“I love you.” I said, for the first time in 5 years.
And after that? When you said, “I love you too,” and hugged me tighter?
I felt the empty space in my heart begin to fill again.