Posted October 2nd, 2017 by HannahChen2009
a zombie now (*Jill*) |
October 2nd, 2017
i am a little bit in love with the whole world around me
It's something when you realize the person you're in love with is not your soulmate, and your soulmate is no longer the person you're in love with.
It comes subtly at times, during a night riddled with bothersome thoughts and insomnia, or when you saw a shadow slip around the corner that you were sure was them. Other times, it hits you at once- the sadness and loneliness you feel when you first broke up with your soulmate. The first time seeing them after you broke up.
For me, it was a particular evening after a school day.
He'd said he would turn up at a small scale class reunion as we arranged to go see our teacher, who we all love, miss, and hadn't seen in a while.
"If he does come, it won't end well." One of my friends told me to threaten him, but I rolled my eyes.
"It's a reunion. It'd be stupid not to let him come. I haven't seen him in a while anyways; and I have a new boyfriend now. I'll be fine."
Spoiler: I was not fine. 5 PM rolled around and old friends and classmates started striding into the office in twos or threes, while others came along. I was amongst those who had met up with a friend beforehand, and we spent some moments sharing with our teacher, gossiping, and catching up as more and more people appeared to add their own two cents to the conversation. It was long past five by then, and we'd only agreed to stay till six thirty at most, and adrenaline made my heart beat faster, realizing that I was either going to have to see him, or I would have to not. At this point, I didn't even know which I wanted more.
I still loved him. I never stop loving someone, and I doubt I would ever stop loving him. He was my first love, the first person I'd ever cared about as intimately as I did him. And I will forever be just ever so slightly in love with him.
My phone rang. A classmate- one who had been especially close to him before we graduated. A small lump formed in my throat as I picked up.
"Hey it's you? We're at the front door."
"Yeah, he's with me."
"Well, ask the security guard to call the office then. I can't do anything for you; we've all been here for ages already."
As soon as they strolled into the room, I backed towards the opposite corner, hiding halfways behind my friend, who said nothing, but tightened his grip on the chair he was leaning on, clenching his other fist. His knuckles whitened, and for a frightening moment I wondered if he had been halfway serious about punching my ex.
It hurt as much as a burning knife searing across my chest, and I toppled onto my friend for support.
And it wasn't seeing him that hurt the most, but seeing how naturally he had interacted with our other old friends and classmates, as if we were mere days from graduating and we were at an occasion no more than what usually went on in school before we'd left- bickering, laughing, smiling, talking... It hurt, the way his gaze avoided mine, the way I couldn't stop glancing at him from time to time. It hurt, the way I was too numb with pain to talk anymore, and his acting as if we'd never known each other.
"I have a class at six thirty," I interjected finally, talking to my teacher, trying not to see him out of the corner of my eyes. "I have to go now if I don't want to be late," I added apologetically. And I did- I did have a piano class at six thirty, but more importantly, I needed to get out of there. Once I stepped out of the office, I took a couple of deep breaths, and tears started rolling down my cheeks silently.
I swore I would never make anyone feel the same way I did that day.
The second time, it was another reunion. This was much longer after our breakup, nearing nine months by then. I had gotten over him more or less, and no more were the sudden urges to send him messages when he was online. I don't hear from him, and was convinced he didn't care to hear from me either. He doesn't, besides my spamming my own instagram, which I doubt he checks that often. I'd known he'd taken a trip to Canada during the summer thanks to the occasional post he was tagged in, and we talked about it in a surprisingly cheerful and easy tone of voice over a lunch with the same couple of classmates.
"So anyways, yeah, I visited the Ni- Ne- Nie?" I paused, trying to grasp the way to pronounce 'Niagra Falls' in my native tongue. He laughed, a corner of his mouth lifting slightly higher than the other, as his eyes crinkled.
"You can just say it in English, you know?" I relaxed.
"Anyways, I only visited Niagra Falls once when I was nine, nearly ten, and I've been over the border to Canada on a ferry that one time, but besides that, I haven't been..."
"ooH- OOH! We did that when we were in Canada, and let me tell you, the way the water sprayed us..."
The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled, reminded me of why I'd fallen in love with him seemingly a decade ago. The lilt in his voice, his easygoing personality, and the way he smiled... also told me if he wasn't over me, he was a very good actor. I smiled wanly, and cried inwardly. I knew I could not be with him anymore, no more than I would willingly put myself through the emotional turmoil that defined the end of our relationship with each other.
It hurts, to know who your soulmate is, but to know there would not be a future with him.
It hurts, to love someone, but to be so consciously, rationally aware, that you can not love him more than the love that you hold for him now- an aching, dulling emptiness in your heart, growing dimmer every day, but still there, nonetheless... still there.
I've always been careful in my relationships in a sense that, i didn't start a relationship until I let both my parents know, and in my first relationship, it took me a year and a half to agree to date him; seven months to hold hands, and nine to embrace. Although it had to be said that I was only a Middle Schooler at the time, and was in many ways unexperienced with relationships and took things slow. In my second relationship, though, it took me a lot less time to agree to date him- three weeks, I believe.
And six months in for my first kiss.
I'd been evasive about it; I told him to wait until I was eighteen, but we could guess how well that worked out. He'd tried to kiss me a few times, but every time I had shied away, and he didn't press me for it, something I am infinitely grateful for.
Deciding to kiss him had been a decision made completely on my own part- it was one among the many split second, intuitive decisions I was accustommed to making.
"Hold on," I untangled myself from him where we'd been cuddling on the couch, and stood to fetch my backpack. "I remembered I had something for you." I rummaged in my backpack for a while, pulling out an assortment of odd objects. A pen, HALF a pen, some tissues, a McDonald's toy from God knows how long ago, and finally clenched my fist in my backpack, lifting my head to grin at him.
"Close your eyes."
He did as he was told. (God bless him I love him.)
"Now hold out your hands." ... "No, closer to you."
I smiled and lifted both empty hands out of my backpack, and shifted my weight, slightly anxious.
"Here," I murmured, and before I could regret it, took his hands in mine, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Needless to say, his eyes snapped open in astonishment as he grinned at me, pulling me closer.
"Why'd you do that?"
"Because I love you."
See more stories by a zombie now (*Jill*)