#pikakeai

I met him on a sweltering September day in a perfectly air conditioned university bookstore (you know, it was the kind of AC that made your sweat feel cold against the back of you neck and the perspiration that had pooled underneath your breasts feel chilling, but refreshing). I had been standing in line, waiting to pick up my textbooks I had ordered (oh, I know, so very college of me, even more so, very freshman of me) and he had walked up to my best friend and I (he knew her, he would have never walked up to a stranger, I know that now) and picked up a desk calendar, (one Christine and I had been debating about buying) and laughed at us. 

His voice, I remember, was not what I expected it to be. You see, he has the darkest eyes I have ever seen. You know, the kind people just wander into by accident while they're looking for the washroom or the gift shop or something and never find their way out of. His eyebrows were severe, too, and he had something of a buzzcut, or the closest I would ever see him with a buzzcut, so he appeared stern to me, like he could knock a person out with his words. So, I had imagined he would have this deep, commanding voice, which was not at all the case. His voice is not high, but not low, either. It has a distinctive middle ground to it, something so recognizable, but unable to be placed. At first, I hated it. (Probably because we often hate things that we don't expect.) Eventually, though, after a month or two following that fate-filled day in the bookstore, I came to love it. 

So, that was it, he laughed at us, told us we were spending unnecessary money, and Christine did not buy the calendar, I did, and I thought he and I would never be friends. I completely wrote him off, but I was haunted by those dark eyes. They followed me into my dreams and I started seeing him everywhere. Walking down the stairs of our shared dorm, in hallways of academic buildings, and, eventually, we became friends. 

It was an equally hot day, and Christine and I were together again, this time at the gym (as if I was actually going to get into shape- laughs aplenty!). Before our workout, Christine dragged my upstairs to the basketball courts to see her boyfriend, and lo and behold, there he was, playing a sport I would learn he loved more than life, with Chrstiney's boy. In that afternoon, in the blazing heat if what would inevitably lead to an Indian Summer, I grabbed onto his sweaty arms playfully, laughed at his jokes, and realized that I was going to fall in love with him, eventually. 

And I did, oh I did. It was a fast and swift fall, completely bliss (interrupted occasionally by my own over-thinking and insecurities) and total euphoria. In October, he slept over in my room more times than I could count, and waking up to his eyes, his sleepy voice, and his bedhead gave me the rush of a lifetime. In November, I fell further into a vast pit of him and I became increasingly afraid of what was going to happen when I wasn't able to see him for a month over winter break. 

December was a sad, scared month. I had the increasing worry that he was going to forget me (even though he was texting me almost every day- oh the challenges of modern society). Eventually, though, after the dismal days of early January, we were reunited, and I was more infatuated with him than ever before. February arrived, and I realized I was in love with him. We were able to spend more alone time together, and each moment was more perfect than the last. Still, though, I couldn't say he was mine, and even now, he is not. 

It's been almost 19 months since I met him, and 11 since I realized I loved him. Every day he makes my day, every time I hear his voice, my heart leaps, and every glimpse of those dark eyes softens every bit of my soul. 

I got naked in front of my roommate today. 

I stood in front of her and shed the layers that had kept everything hidden for so long. I let her see each piece of concealment fall to the floor, almost effortlessly, as we both undressed our souls. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of build up, I was completely bare to her. She could see the rolls of insecurity that ran into the scars of my past, and how stomach pushes out a little, filled with secrets and stories I choose not to tell. 

Across the table from me, she sat equally naked. On her arms, I could see where the strain of her parent's relationship had caused marks to appear over time. On her knees I could see the scuffs from self-sacrifice for her siblings and close friends, and in her hair I found every beautiful thought she had tangled in her mass of dark curls. 

He was like the wind: he didn't belong to anyone, and he never would. 

Listen, he certainly did not belong to me, but I wanted to have him more than anything in the world, and that's what scared me the most. 

I was afraid that my desire for him was just that: a want and not a need. It felt like a need, like I wouldn't be able to breathe without his presence in my life. But how could I be sure? How could I be sure this love for him that burned like fire in my veins was not false? How could I know?

One time, I hadn't heard his voice in four days. Then, I called him, and he didn't pick up, but his voice echoing quietly over the voice-mail made my heart jump. In that moment I thought, "this must be the real deal." And you know, I think it is. 

I think this is the big leagues, the true side of love, not that tainted thing I called love in high school. This is the ultimate desire to take care of someone forever, even though you want to strangle them sometimes. 

If I could look into those pitch black eyes forever, I would. But you know, he doesn't belong to anyone, especially not me, and I don't think he ever will. 

I'll tell you what hurts, what really hurts. It hurts when you're running down the street in negative degree weather, away from the boy you love because his words cut deeper than any knife you have ever encountered. 

He doesn't know what he's saying, though, when he says he's not into girls with big butts, and he has no idea what implications he is sending when he tells you the girl running around the track is hot. 

It hurts when you're laying in your bed at 1:30 a.m crying because once again you are arguing with him, and he is getting mad, for once. It hurts when he says "you got what you wanted, congrats," because he is fuming, now. It hurts because his anger is the last thing you want, and you don't know why he can't see that. It hurts because you love him so much, so, so much, but he doesn't see it. He doesn't see it. 

But he doesn't know that you cried in your bed that night when you two were texting. He doesn't know how much pain it puts on you to tell him off, and he doesn't know how much courage it takes to say the things you say to him. 

And yet, it hurts even more when you see he is responding to your roommate's messages, but not yours. It hurts so much to watch him move slowly away from you because there is simply nothing you can do about it. 

scuse you?? You were in Chicago?? Girl I LIVE in Chicago! As in the city of!!!!! I wish I coulda seen you!!

god BLESS YOUR SOUL, you're absolutely adorable ;;;;

He skated like his soul fell in love: without reservation or fear of falling. Full speed ahead and no regrets seemed the name of his game, but I was different. 

I ice skated like I fell in love, too: scared, cautious, and slow. One step at a time, with an intense fear of falling and an even more intense fear of finding out how cold the ground is. Almost in denial, as if I truly did not want to believe that what I carefully glided across was really ice. 

Let me tell you about a boy.

When I met him, I thought we would never be friends. His eyebrows sometimes won't relax, and that day was one of those days. He approached me and my best friend in the bookstore, and I thought, "gracious, this boy is so angry, we'll never be friends."

Soon, though, he was around more and more, and I saw that his eyebrows didn't always point in a nasty v shape towards his nose. Instead, I saw his gentle hands play video games, I saw his skin glisten with warm sweat when we played basketball, and I felt his taught muscles beneath my hand when I would grab onto his arm, playfully, to keep him from leaving. 

Closer we grew, spending more and more time together, until I thought for sure we would meld into one, singular, human being.

Summer set in, though, and we didn't see each other for weeks on end. It felt like he was leaving me, like his soul, once so close to mine, was flying away, away, away. And maybe it was.

When September came, he felt further away than ever, and continued to escape and fly higher. I became worried, because, by now, I had latched onto him, I had fallen in love with him.

Not long ago, though, he came back from his adventure in the clouds. I texted him one night, tears streaming down my face, and did what I never thought I would do. I began pouring out my emotions to him about my sister and what a tough time I was having. Never before had I been so painfully honest with him, or with anyone, besides my best friend of 16 years. 

I didn't know what I expected from him. Part of me thought he would just say "it's okay. don't worry," and all of the generic answers. Another part of me hoped for something more.

I waited for about five minutes before I received a long response from him telling me he knew something had been wrong and that was why he had been distant. He thought I needed space. (He was wrong, I needed the opposite of space, but hey, he was trying) He told me it was okay I treated him poorly because he understood and if there was anyone I could be mean to and release my anger on, it was him, because he wasn't going anywhere. 

He told me it was okay to be upset. He said I didn't need to carry the weight of my sister's depression alone. He said he was here for me. He said I could tell him anything.

And I cried more than I did before, because I realized that I had been holding off letting him in because I was afraid he would leave, and I realized how dumb I had been to think that.