#prosatext

You're it. The person. Like the capital-letter kind. There's no denying it anymore, even though I've tried. God, how I've tried. You're the person I measure all other people against, it's unfair to them, really. They walk in and say something like "I prefer dogs over cats" and I think Well, she would never say that. I can't stop doing it. You're the standard, the ruler, the whole damn measuring tape. And I am so tired of pretending otherwise.

I'm tired of pretending I haven't replayed every glance, every half-smile, every second of us that felt like it might have been real. Tired of pretending I don't ache for the sound of your voice and the way it softened when it was just us. I'm tired of pretending I didn't see the way you looked at me. - That look wasn't nothing. It just wasn't. You didn't look at anyone else that way. - Tired of acting like I didn't notice the way you stood closer to me than you had to. Tired of convincing myself your laughter around me wasn't different, wasn't softer, wasn't ours, and of convincing myself I was just imagining things. Because I wasn't. I was someone to you and I know it. I'm done acting like the way you looked at me was just a coincidence. Like we weren't a little bit extraordinary, even if only for a moment. You've always been the person, no matter how many times I've tried to swap you out for someone else — someone easier.

When you disappeared, it felt final. Like a door slamming shut, a light going out. I thought, That's it. That's all I get of you. I cried in grocery store parking lots, in bed, in the shower while the conditioner sat too long in my hair. I cried so much I got bored of crying, which is a weird thing to feel. But now? Now you're back and I don't know if it's luck or destiny or just dumb coincidence, but I want to believe it means something.

I thought you were gone forever and now you're here, or at least close enough to count as here and I get to hope for you again. Do you know how wild that feels? Like winning the lottery and finding out it's not cash, it's something better — time with you. I'm so grateful - stupidly, deliriously grateful for it. And yes, maybe it will hurt. Maybe I will embarrass myself, but I want to hope now.

Honestly, what's left to lose? I've already made every mistake in the book when it comes to you and maybe I'll make a hundred more. But I'd rather make those mistakes, one after another, than sit here wondering what might have been. Hope, when it comes to you, feels like the highest, purest thing I've ever touched. If humiliation is the price of trying, then fine: Here's my dignity. Take it.

If it hurts me, it hurts me. If it crushes me, it crushes me. I don't want to be practical or logical or whatever else it is people tell you to be when the person you love doesn't love you back. I want to hope. For you, I'd fall flat on my face a thousand times and then I'd get back up, knees scraped and teeth gritted... because I know you're worth it.

I just want the chance to show you who I am now. Even if it's only once. Even if it breaks my heart all over again. Even if it's just for one day, one conversation, I want you to see me. To see who I've become. The real me. The one who never stopped looking for you, even when you weren't there. I've become someone you'd recognise and also not recognize, someone you'd be curious about. I've been out in the world and now I have stories and scars and things I know you'd find fascinating, if you'd just let me tell you. You'd look at me and see someone you could sit on the floor with - our knees touching while we talk about everything and nothing until the world fades out.

I'm not a little kid with too many feelings and nowhere to put them. I think you'd be impressed by the way I walk into rooms without apologizing anymore, the way I know things now, the way my hands look now when they're doing things that matter. I wish you could meet the person I became without you, for you. A person who loves you so much it's ridiculous. And you'd probably laugh at me, but that's okay, too. I like the sound of your laugh. Even when it's not for me.

Wenn das Leben ein Weg ist, dann hab ich wohl die richtige Abzweigung verpasst.

Mich überholen dauernd diese top-ausgestatteten Weitwanderer mit ihren Hochalpinstiefeln und Goretex-Jacken und Leichtgewichtrucksäcken, während ich in Flip-Flops durch den Wald stolper und meine Wasserflasche vergessen hab und ich bin schon verdammt durstig. Ich weiß nicht, wo die anderen ihre Ausrüstung herhaben, ich hab mir nie meine Schuhe aussuchen dürfen, ich wurde einfach barfuß auf den Weg geworfen und plötzlich wurde von mir erwartet, dass ich den Berg genauso erklimme, als hätte ich Wanderstiefel an. Selbst meine Flip-Flops, die sich eigentlich gar nicht dazu eignen, diesen Weg zu gehen, musste ich mir hart erkämpfen, aber im Endeffekt bringen sie mir eh nicht viel.

Wahrscheinlich ist es einfach meine Schuld. Wer geht schon mit Flip-Flops und ohne Wasserflasche wandern? Ich hätte mir einfach besser überlegen sollen, welchen Weg ich gehen soll. Ich hab mich schließlich für diesen Weg entschieden, wenn es noch so viele andere gibt. Da war ein Weg, der nicht so steil war, für den ich keine so gut Ausrüstung gebraucht hätte, aber alle haben mir gesagt „Du bist doch so gut im Wandern, nimm den Steileren, dort ist die Aussicht auch schöner“ und „Wenn du den einfacheren Weg nimmst, verschenkst du dein Wanderpotential nur“ und „Du hast dir doch auf deinem bisherigen Weg so leicht getan“, aber sie wussten nicht, wie viele Blasen ich schon hatte und wie sehr mir meine Füße weh getan haben. Es hat auch niemand gemerkt, dass ich die notwendige Ausrüstung für den Weg nicht hatte. Mir war das ja selber auch noch nicht so bewusst. Ich hab einfach geglaubt, die anderen strengen sich eben mehr an. Erst, als ich hinuntergeschaut hab, hab ich bemerkt, dass meine Füße bluten und ich keine Schuhe anhab.

Manchmal erzählen mir meine Weggefährten davon, wie weit sie heute gewandert sind. Das sind immer so viele Kilometer, so viele Höhenmeter, dass ich mir gar nicht vorstellen kann, wie man das anstellen soll. Ich schaffe es ja kaum, ein paar Meter vorwärts zu kommen, ohne über eine Wurzel zu stolpern. Irgendwie hab ich das Gefühl, die anderen stören diese Wurzeln gar nicht, als wären sie für sie gar nicht da. Aber meine Flip-Flops verhaken sich einfach an jeder kleinen Unebenheit im Boden, und dann schaffe ich es nicht, auf den Beinen zu bleiben. Klar, bis jetzt bin ich noch jedes Mal wieder aufgestanden, auch, wenn ich manchmal länger am Waldboden gelegen bin, aber es wäre schon angenehmer, nicht dauernd hinzufallen. Außerdem bin ich ja den anderen im Weg, wenn ich so dalieg. Manchmal, wenn ich sehr verzweifelt bin, frage ich die anderen, wie sie es machen, dass sie so gut vorwärts kommen, und dann erzählen sie mir von ihren Funktionssocken aus Merinowolle und ihre atmungsaktiven Hemden, und merken gar nicht, dass ich nicht einmal vernünftige Schuhe hab.

Ich weiß schon, dass es für die anderen auch anstrengend ist, aber ich hab das Gefühl, dass sie ihre großartige Ausrüstung einfach als selbstverständlich hinnehmen. Wenn ich mal erwähne, wie schwer mir das Wandern fällt, höre ich nur „Ach, der Weg ist für niemanden einfach“ und „Jeder fällt mal hin“, aber sie meinen damit, dass sie vielleicht alle paar Kilometer mal straucheln, und sich nicht am laufenden Band aufrappeln müssen. Sie sehen einfach nicht, wie oft ich hinfalle, und denken dann, dass ich mir einfach zu viel Zeit lasse, wenn ich nicht so schnell vorankomme wie sie.

My body felt like it had forgotten how to be a body, like it was trying to decide whether it should stay attached to me or just melt into the matress.

My eyes were wide awake though, scanning the entire room and i noticed then, how the light had changed.

Daylight, soft and golden, was sneaking through the blinds and filling the room with a quiet kind of warmth.

After a day that had wrung me out like this one, that left me just a pile of bones and skin on a bed, the light felt like a miracle.

It wasn't the harsh brightness of midday or the dramatic flare of sunset, It was just... light.

Gentle and steady, it slipped through the window casting thin lines across the floor, Inching up the walls as if it was trying not to disturb me, whispering „sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." I saw it in a way I never had before, outlining the edges of things that i had never noticed.

The same walls, the same furniture, the same everything i've always been surrounded by.

My home, the place where i stop being a person, where I let everything slip off me and dissolve into the carpet and now suddenly, the light made it all look sharp and clear like it had been waiting for me to finally see it.

It had always been there, always done this, but i never really looked at it before.

Why would I?

It was just light after all.

Just my room.

It was strange, realising you could live with something, be surrounded by it everyday, and never truly know it.

I guess that's how i'd felt about myself lately, too.

Like I was just passing through my own life, barely aware of the details.

But as I saw the light

it reminded me that there's always something worth noticing.

I stayed there

just watching it

feeling Its warmth on my skin.

I wish I could've stayed with you longer, just to see where it would go and to let whatever we had find its shape. But we were always rushing towards an end we knew we couldn't avoid. You knew that too. Maybe that's why you never let it get too deep. You liked me. I know that. You liked me in that easy, noncommittal way like someone who wasn't planning to stay, but I kept hoping you would. I don't know why. Maybe because I wanted to matter to you. But you kept me at arm's length, just far enough away so I wouldn't break when I inevitably had to leave.

You were always careful like that, always kind. You knew exactly where this was headed, where it had to go, while I was still hoping for something else, something more. But... that's the thing. I kept thinking you'd open the door wider and let me in sometime, but you didn't. You smiled at me like I was someone you liked but didn't need, and I smiled back like I was fine with that. But I wasn't. I never was. And ultimately, I left and tried to move on because I had to, and you let me go because you were always going to.

You said something once about "doing the right thing.," but all I could think about was how unfair it was that right and wrong had already been decided for us. I wanted to look back at you and say

"don't let me go." I wanted to shout "stay with me." Not because we were in love or because I thought we were right for each other... but because we could have been something if we just tried. I dream about that. About us. About the moments we didn't get and the conversations that never happened. I wonder if you think about it too sometimes. If you wonder what we might have been, if things had been different or the world had given us just a little bit more time.

Maybe you don't. Maybe you think this was just something that happened. Something you could forget when the day ended, like wiping crumbs off the counter. I never got to wipe my counter clean. I always held on to the crumbs, thinking they'd maybe tum back into bread if I just kept them long enough. Like, there you are, just living in your effortless way while I'm walking around with a thousand "what ifs" bouncing around in my head like loose change.

What if I'd stayed? What if you'd stopped me? What if, instead of saying goodbye, you'd grabbed my arm and said, "Wait, we're not done here"? What if we'd become closer? What if this isn't the end? What if, one day, we find our way back to each other, not in the same way but in some other form?

Sometimes I imagine us years from now, sitting at some café, pretending like we don't remember how we could've been more. We'll talk about the weather, the places we've been, our new favourite books. You'll laugh at something small, and I'II look at you like nothing ever slipped away. We'll keep it light, harmless. But in the space between words, I'll wonder what it would feel like to be honest. To say, "I think about you all the time." But I won't say it. Instead, we'll finish our coffee and exchange a polite smile

But this time, as I get up to leave, I don't move. I stay. I sit back down, right across from you, and I stare at your hands for just a second too long and without hesitation, I reach out and grab them just to stop you from drifting away again.