This is not for a crush. It is not for a lover. It is for someone I’m liking a lot.
Yesterday you asked me to come have pizza with you and some friends. You said it was a friend’s birthday but you would have loved it if I were there to share a slice of pizza over the noise of loud un-pretentious music and the sound of age. I couldn’t come. I told you I’d love to, but I can’t. I used you the other day to help me shift my stuff out. You invited me over to your house and I drank your wine and got drunk to it with the sound of Denzel Washington on the screen in the background and your poetry in my mind playing on full blast.
When I got into bed last night. I wanted to text you and tell you to come over and fix my Tv screen. I don’t have a television. I thought of saying come over and fix my heart instead. But it’s not broken. But maybe you could still have come and tuned its strings. You could have come and fingered it until we were in tune.
Last weekend you read me your poem “Phobia” and I told you I saw myself in it. And you said it was you in it. And I said “you make me feel comfortable. Like home.” You said “I hope that’s a good thing”, I took a drag off my cigarette and said “it is a good thing” and there was silence. And there was Denzel Washington on the screen again. And I wanted to hold your hand. I wanted to reach out and put my hand on your thigh. But I was scared. You would ask me what I was doing. And all I’d be able to say is “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
I hope you don’t fall in love with me. I hope the fact that I’m almost tall, skinny, with small breasts and an arse as small my self-esteem will repel you. I hope that my writings will make you dream of everywhere else you’d rather be. I hope my past and its scars chase your soul around when I’m not watching…I hope. I hope you don’t fall in love with me. There are some things about me that you do not know because you have never asked. Like how five years ago I made a promise to a 17 year old boy to always love him. He is a man now, turning twenty two this year and that promise is what holds his sanity together. He wears it like a rosary in the midst of medical school, body dissections and cell division practical’s.
So I’ll just keep silent about this. I will like you. A lot. In secret. And take note of how often you tell me I’m beautiful when we’re together. I’ll ignore that sometimes, when you think I’m not watching, I see you staring at me in the reflection of that huge mirror in your house. I hope this feeling will eventually solve it self…I hope.
Yours only in friendship,