something new, something borrowed

Ħawwadni, ħa nifhmek.

All I know is this: since I’ve met you, I haven’t had any desire to be intimate with anyone else. I don’t know how many drinks or dates I’ve rejected since. This has never happened. All I know is this: what I feel may not only be primal. I analyse every word you say. I think about you. I wait for your messages. And I still think about that night when you, half naked, randomly started singing in my bed. No one ever did that before. The worst part? I wanted to get to know you. And, I still do. Even if you’re annoying; if you talk in circles. Even if you have this incredibly chaotic tendency to hide behind words. 

It’s me who’s not being honest with herself — I’d trade my kidney for that night to happen again. For it to keep happening. You said the spark was missing. But, frankly, I think that you’re resisting something. You’re living rent-free in my head. You didn’t mean to take it further? 

Don’t think I don’t remember what you said about how easy it is for you to get attached to the idea of someone. I just didn’t expect that it would be such a good night. I didn’t even notice that the time flew by. I think you didn’t either. I hoped that we wouldn’t end up back at my place. I never felt the butterflies I felt when you were inside me. 

I want one thing: not to pretend it never happened. To start over. A cleanslate. I’m not the type to let someone in and then let them back out. This wasn’t ideal. Far from ideal. But, I am intrinsically passionate. I know what it is. And I only know due to the absence of its reciprocation. I hate temporary. But, isn’t life itself temporary? 

I need one thing, now: you again. Just you. You’re greedy. I’m greedy. You don’t want comfortable. But nothing about this is comfortable. I need to get you out of my head; and you out of yours. Let go. Even if you think you won’t survive what you’re deeming as temporary, I’ll be there to help you survive it. And, honestly, I’m not the type to do temporary. You know this. My premonition tells me that no one is going to get hurt more than they already are if the chemistry keeps going. 

You, and your damn abstract feelings. Feelings. Chemistry. Compatibility. Just give in. To me. Just this once, and you’ll never have to hear about it again. It was abrupt; the way you cut it short. You’re willing to stick around? Why? 

Why does the universe throw these people — like, you — in my path? I don’t understand what’s going on. This cannot be it, though. I need you to help me out. Are we too alike? 

To me, it seems, that someone hurt you. Someone hurt me, too. You’re resisting. Your wall is up. I was in love, last year, actually. And that, that one did hurt. I try not to think about how that one ended. 

Nowadays, my walls are decidedly down. Not for anyone; just because I made the decision to stop caring if people are scared of my opinions; my thoughts; my feelings. Life’s too short to be stuck; to be hurt. You will survive it. You just have to trust me, on this one. Or, who knows, you’ll just block me (don’t, though, I won’t recover). 

Generally — and, I’m writing this with a smirk on my face — I’m the one who gets hurt. Not the other way around. I’ve only ever found Othellos, after all.