When I Was In Love

About two or three years ago, I fell in love with who I thought was amazing man. While the end of this is sad, I wrote this while I was in love. Reading it again, I can almost remember that feeling of being in love ... and I can't wait for it to happen again (minus the hurting part that is!) *grin*
Its not easy-in that cornered moment of your life when you realize that the reason you cant breathe lately is because youre in love.
I practiced saying it over and over again in my head, Im in love as if bewitched by some magical wonderment not meant for me-meant only for those with some secret quality, some unknown quantative measurement that I do not possess. But after the surprise of uttering the words goes away, I realize that it is fitting for me.
I rush down the crowded street that, only weeks before, had me moaning and complaining about the people. Too many people. But today was different; let the people be there. Let them laugh and talk and get their coffees and rush off to work, and let them brush rudely by me on their way to some unknown destination, because I am in LOVE!
He makes me pancakes on the weekends, and smiles at me and laughs at my surprise that someone would do something that nice for me. He just keeps mixing the batter, round and round, and I watch with breathless anticipation. This is what its like, falling in love with your best friend.
Only problem is, I am afraid it wont last. Afraid that tomorrow when I wake up, this world of make believe will melt away leaving me les than I was yesterday. But oh this feeling. Maybe he will find a way to hurt me, find a way to take this most vulnerable moment that I am having and throw it in my face and grin at his daring, or simply take his leave without a word of explanation or goodbye. But it is all worth it somehow.
I am lost in thought on the edge of his bed, and he can sense tension in the air. He knows just what to say and asks me whats wrong. I want to tell him that this is so amazing I want to stop it right now, stop it before I get hurt-but the words lose themselves in my head before I can even begin to say them. A part of me, the stronger and more logical side, tells myself that its all right. Its time to let go-let go of all the fears, all the worries, just like when you first learn to swim. You have to relax, and just remember that you can float on the water as long as you dont panic. Just close your eyes, and float.
All day long, every day, I feel as though I am floating. I see him moody and angry, and I realize that he is not perfect, except to me. His darker side, his arrogance that he knows everything about everything, only adds to his boyish charm. He has an opinion about everything, and cares little about mine. But oh, I am in love.
One day, he comes home and for the first time since I have known him, he closes his door to me. He refuses to open up and I can sense that there is something wrong. My first thought is that I have somehow offended him-somehow done some horrific act to make his angry. And yet, in my heart I can only see good intentions.
When he finally opens his door to me, I am confused, and hopeful that having known him as I do, he will be patient with me and explain to me what has upset him so. If it was my fault, then I will fix it and move on. But I can see the anger in his eyes and know its directed toward me.
Before long, he is yelling at me for the first time ever. And months pass by and he is yelling at me, calling me names, hurting me in a way that would not be believeable for someone who feels the way I do. And so, both he and time begin to slip away, word by word, day by day.
If there could have been one picture on my wall the wrong direction, some feng shui I could have done to make myself understand his change in heart, I would have done so in a heartbeat if only to grasp the heart of the situation. As he would grow angry with me, annoyed by the simplest of gestures like a hug, I would say to myself over and over again, I love you. I love you. And yet the pain that I felt in his non-responsiveness was like a paper cut to my heart.
Nothing I said mattered, nothing I did mattered, and slowly my magical world began to come crashing down on me. Perhaps it is then that I found the letter. When I first saw it, I was afraid to look at it-afraid of what I might find. Afraid that if I were to see the real reason, I would not be as strong as I needed to be. But I knew that the words on those pages were the answers I so desperately sought.
It took a long time to read it. At first I put it under my pillow, so that when I calmed down I would simply take a peek. Shaking from the thought of breaking someones privacy and discovering the truth, I attempted to hold my hand steady. I felt as though I was cold and yet hot and yet there were no words to describe it.
After an hour or so, the realization hit me that I was in love. That feeling that I had so joyously coveted would allow me to read the letter and having nothing bad befall me. I only wanted to know the truth, and if for nothing else, my heart needed to know.
It took me twice through to understand what I was reading, as the tears were falling down my cheeks before I could stop them, all but blinding my vision. I wiped them away, but more replaced them-as I settled into the shock of what I had discovered.
It was a beautiful letter, and as articulate as only he could be. Of course, it wasnt written to me-but to someone in his quiet, whispered past. Someone who had apparently fluttered into his heart like a butterfly, and then never left him. I remembered that he had talked about her, someone he had dated years before, someone who lived far away. This could not be happening, I kept telling myself. But the truth of when he had signed the letter, the date, stamped itself into my memory.
The whole time he had spent with me, he had spent thinking about her. I was the stand-in, walking in the footsteps of someone elses shadow, and falling in love with someone whose heart was already taken.