They Ask Me

THEY ASK ME

They ask me,
“Could you see yourself with him again?” Laying next to him, kissing him, taking in his every last word? Feeling the warmth of his skin against yours and to hear every heartbeat as it pounds like thunder within his chest?
I think to myself, I quite possibly could, but not today, not in this moment.
Perhaps one day, I answer. When we are both more mature. You see, life is taking us different directions. Him left and me right. With different cities and different dreams to chase.

Perhaps one day, I answer. When we aren't making important life decisions, college decisions. Decisions for our future. When life becomes a little more simple.

Perhaps one day, I answer. If the stars align and if God allows it and we both know what we want in a relationship other than to love someone and to be loved in return.

Perhaps one day, I answer. Given the opportunity and assuming we haven't missed our chance. Assuming that the love we once had still lives on, perhaps, quite possibly perhaps I could see it. But not today. Today is not that day.
 

They ask me,

“Can you see yourself loving him again”

But you see, the real question is, have I ever stopped? Have I truly stopped loving him and his ways. Have I lost the love for the way he fidgets in his sleep, or the way he cracks his knuckles? Has my saddened heart grown cold to his touch? Have I stopped loving the way he flips his hair, or the smile upon his face when he's happy? To see the pearls of white under his lips that I used to kiss?

You then ask me again,

“Could you see yourself with him again?” And I say I don't know. Is all the fighting worthwhile? Are all my tears dried up? Can I find it within myself to move forward, but most importantly, can he? To look past the petty remarks and the mistakes and all the betrayal and hurt? To sweep it under the rug and start a new? We can't do that. I can't do that. It's not that simple. You see, a broken plate can be glued back together but there is always that one piece that doesn't fit quite right...I am that plate. And he is that piece.

And so you ask,

“Do you still love him, flaws and all?” And I answer without hesitation. No. I do not. I do not love him. I do not love the way he hides, like a child scared in a storm. Always in fear. I do not love the side of him he hid from me. The side that liked to drink until the words rolled off his lips, the lips I used to kiss, in fragments. I do not love the person he is becoming. The one who stays out all night, only to return as an even different person than he was before. To allow himself to be utterly engulfed by the vices of this world in order to drown himself from this heavy oxygen he can't breathe. I do not love him, I do not love him. I do not love when he slaps the hand that feeds him, with the whole world to watch. I do not love the way he sobs in self pity for gifts he brought to his own table. I do not love him for who he is, but for who he WAS at one point. I do not love him now, but at one time I did.
 

So you ask me one last time,

“Can you see yourself with him again?” And I answer, "Not today, but ask me again tomorrow."

And so after quite some time, when we have aged a few years. When we’ve finally jumped and landed on our feet, I’ve gone my way and he with his. And you and I are having lunch one day under the warm summer sun in the city that raised us, you ask me the same question that has haunted me for years. “Can you see yourself with him again?” and I look into your eyes while I let them take over me, and I say, “No.” Then you ask me “Can you see yourself loving him again?” and again, I answer, with the same sullen tone, “No.” but this time, you ask me why. And this time, I stare into your eyes of brown that have laughed and cried with me all this time, and I tell you...

“I love the idea of him. The idea of us together. The way he used to carry me and parade me around as if I were some rare precious jewel. I love the memory of him, and the way he made me feel whole and complete. I miss him, I miss the way he smells, the way his hand fit in mine. I miss his eyes, god I miss those most. But he is not the same person he once was, he is a changed child, just short of a man.” And within that moment, it all made sense. The reason you had been asking me these haunting questions, these questions that for so long, have broken me apart, leaving me to crumble in my bed, drowning in my tears wondering if there is anything else worth living for, wasn’t to seek a dreaded answer. No. It was until I came to my senses and found that I do not need him. No. No. No. No. No. So ask me again. Ask me one more time, ask me ten more times, hundred even. No I do not love him and no I cannot see myself with him again. Ask me again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, because it will always be those words that roll of my tongue.