9/20/12

One of Those Nights
By Alyanna Diavane


It was supposed to be another night of reckless drinking. Another one filled with pretentious cheer. At least, I thought it was. I really did. But, then, you were there. It wasn't supposed to mean anything, really. You were just another guy, right? But then we talked through the night, with alcohol and heartbreak fueling our desire to talk. It was never a big deal.

I was wrong. It became a big deal, to me. All because you, with your heart on your sleeve, were a bit too much for me to handle. You were a rare one. The old-fashioned, nice guy. Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to insult you, really I'm not. But, you're just too unique for me. Too rare for me not to take for granted. Normally, I'd stay away. Normally, I'd run far, far away, where I will never be able to see or hear from you again. Too much heartbreak, too much drama, too much everything in between for me to want to stay away from it all.

Thankfully you didn't force me run off to a place I never wanted to be. But I did. After we talked. After I realized that talking to you made me feel a sensation that I thought was all but inexistent - hope. I hoped for this, for you, to make everything better. I hoped that you would change my life for the better, finally. I hoped that you would be able to give me what I wanted in order to fix my heart, me.

But then we stopped talking to each other. I was too much of a coward to send you a message. And you... I don't know. At first, I tried my best not to care. I did my best to make sure that I don't send you a "random" message, not to act clingy and needy and in dire need of attention to get you to notice me. No, I just sat here. Waiting for you to talk to me first. I mean, we, well you, talked about some of the deepest stuff you've been holding on to, right? What's wrong in expecting, assuming, that we'll talk again? That you'll talk to me again just to share those woes of yours?

Days, and eventually weeks, came by and nothing. Not a single word, message, anything. And here I was pining for you to talk to me, or the other way around. I was like a fish out of water, to put it lightly. It was like deja vu. Or not. All I know is that this is a completely different ball game altogether. Then again, you didn't care, at least, that's what I thought.

My sanity was, is, killing me. I had to do something. Anything, really, just to make this feeling go away. What exactly, I have no idea. Then it hit me. A message, just like before. Screw the norms, screw everything. I just want to talk to him. That's all. Is that too much to ask? I don't care if he stays away from me from now on. I. Just. Want. To. Talk. To. Him. I want to hear his witty comments all over again. I want to feel as if there's nothing left to worry about. I just want to lose myself in the moment, whether real or not. I honestly want to make myself believe that you're feeling it too. That sense of longing. That feeling of attachment growing between us but I know that's just me. You already gave your heart to someone else, unfortunately. Gave it to a machine for a heart. Someone who would never understand what it means to actually need someone.

Thankfully, you were perfectly fine with me taking the initiative, talking to you first, and it went smoothly from there. The words slid so smoothly to our fingertips, as if it was meant for each other to hear. That's when you told me about you giving your heart to a machine, telling me that all-too-familiar, heart-wrenching pain of knowing that that person will never notice you, despite your best efforts, of that person never looking at you past the point of being a close friend. Been there, done that, time and time again. But I can't tell you that. I can't relive my whole life story with you. Too much baggage, really. Too much pain for me to want to return to. And I honestly think you'll end up running to the other side of the world if you knew.

And still I pursued you and the tiny chance of you noticing someone like me, despite what you've told me. Maybe you'll realize that I'm someone with her heart on her sleeve, just like you. Someone who'd give just about anything for the one they feel something, anything, for. Then, maybe, we'll click. Or not. Maybe you'll run to the other side of the world, like I once did, just to get away from me, like what everyone else once did. Maybe I'll end up hiding my heart to the rest of the world because of this. We wouldn't know. Not unless we try, right?

It hurts. It still does. Because no matter how hard I try, nothing would happen. You'd go running to someone else. And me? I'll still be here. Silently cursing myself for liking you and cursing those people who take you for granted. "I'm here! I'm just here!" I'd scream to myself, knowing for a fact that it would never reach you. I'm just too damn scared for my own good, too afraid to want to reach out and console you whenever you need me to, just because I don't know how. And I'm scared. I'm terrified. I don't want to lose the friendship we've made for a very short time but, at the same time, I don't want to trust you that much. At least, not yet. And, because of that, I keep on hurting myself for not knowing any better, for relying on that minuscule chance of you ever noticing someone as fucked up as I am, instead of looking, and staying, with someone who actually loves me as it is. Without all the pretenses, without me trying, with everything I've got, to impress you.

The thing is, I like you, ever since that night. I like you and it's killing me because I don't want to. Or maybe I do. I just don't know how to move on. That's why I can't open up about it, about this, about you. And, it's killing me, literally, to see that you're being taken for granted. To actually see you worrying about me as a freaking friend, because that's not what I need, not now, not ever.

If I'm not trying to be nice, I really would have asked what I am to you. A friend? An acquaintance? Something else altogether? I just don't know anymore. That's why I need someone, hopefully that someone is you, to fill up the spaces in my head that need affirming, that craving for love.

"'I still care for you, you know..' That phrase again. Everyone cares for me. They just don't know how to love me." (Glass, Ellen Hopkins)


- - -
Innocent enough to love. Knowledgeable enough to think things through. "Be warned. I'm a disaster in the making." is what she'd normally say but now it's just "This has tragedy written all over it."