I used to be terrified of the future and its vague nature. I hated ambiguity. I wanted to know every single detail of my future. I wanted to know if I got disgustingly rich like I always wanted to, I wanted to know if I looked like my daughter, I wanted to know if I grew old with my other half, I wanted to know if I was happy. I had this desperate need to know, because the fact that there were millions of possibilities and it was all up to me, well.. it was overwhelming.
Then something horrible happened.
This wonderful sweet boy appeared with promises of love, marriage, kids and happy ever after- basically all I ever wanted. He talked about our kids, our pets, our future. He said with utmost certainty that he would love me for all time. He looked at me with eyes that said: this is my forever.
He scared the hell out of me.
This was it, right? The man every girl, after reading too much romance novels and watching chick flicks, dreamt about? The One? So why did I, a girl with a passionate love for romance novels and chick flicks, feel suffocated by his presence? Why did his talks of the future, our future, make me feel like walls were rapidly closing in on me? Why did his words feel like bullets? He offered certainty, the very thing I wanted for years and yet I was scared to the bone. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I wonder what you think of me. Wait, no, not that. It’s not a fleeting thought. It’s more like I have this insane craving and nearly animalistic need to know what you think of me. Do you love me? Do you hate me? Do you think about me everyday? Do you remember me when you lie awake and can’t sleep? Do you still remember our little jokes and do you still laugh at them? Do you miss talking to me? Do you miss me even a little bit? I can’t very well ask. I don’t know why but even though we’ve grown apart, what you think of me still matters.
i used to think that this was a small city, but i haven’t seen you around in nearly six years. so i’m thinking that this city is pretty huge. and lonely.
i wish i could stop at my mind’s first squeak of ‘wow he’s really cute’ but i don’t. instead the voice in my head repeats that thought over and over again as i sip my coffee and stretch my legs and steal a little peek of him at the counter. the voice intensifies when i scrutinize his face, marveling at the curve of his lips or at the little black crescents that are his eyelashes or at that adorable, messy mop of hair. i wonder what his life is like, if he cooks his own breakfast, if he lives alone or with friends, or if he has any allergies. the longer i stare at him, the faster my heart beats. a strong longing to have any sort of contact with him develops, as i smile when he smiles at a customer, and i look away, and blush, when he looks my way. in this short amount of time, i have become emotionally invested yet i have said not a single word to him. i groan, because i realizei won’t be able to speak properly to him as i will avoid his eyes because i’m afraid to lose myself into that sea of blue and spill my feelings, and though i had promised myself not to crush on anyone, fuck, it happened again. so i sit there, mentally scolding him, for being really cute, and my eyes, for betraying me and my resolve and for unfailingly finding him in the busy coffee shop.
i have commitment issues, she begins.
i think it developed from a silly conversation i had with my childhood best friend.she asked me what my favorite color was. i said, ‘no, i don’t know what my favorite color is’. she looked at me, horrified, before exclaiming ‘you have to know!’. i asked why, and she replied with the response we had grown to deem as indisputable: ‘because’.
i gasped, alarmed by my apparent cluelessness, and bombarded her with questions: does it have to be just one color? (just one, she answered sagely), can i change my favorite color anytime i want? (no, came the affronted reply) what if i like two colors the same? (you have to choose, she replied), what if i don’t like it that much? (you have to like it, she reasoned, it’s your favorite!), and really i can’t change it? i’ll be stuck with that color forever and ever or eternity? (YES, she huffed, already annoyed with my incessant questions).
i soaked in this information, and raked my brain, my memories, for a color that made me feel something special. ‘well, i like pink,’ i had blurted out, remembering my favorite pink pajamas. she grinned and announced that she liked pink too, and called our mothers to declare that we both liked the color pink, as i realized that i also liked the blue sky, the yellow mug my grammy gave me for my birthday, the green shirt dad wore to work, and the red lipstick my sister wouldn’t let me touch.
but i had already said pink. so i said nothing and endured pink clothes, pink shoes, pink everything for the remainder of my childhood.
of course, i did realize that there were actually no rules with choosing a favorite color but there are unspoken, and spoken rules in a relationship that were frighteningly similar to those i derived from my then-worldly 10 year old best friend.