Before he was the boy I lived with, he was something much more complicated…
I had known him for a while but never even dreamt of kissing him. And then I dreamt it and I knew that was it. But he wasn’t so sure.
We were on. We were off. We were secret. We were scared. We were text messages. Were were dinners out. We were silent. We were tears.
And sometimes I think I dreamt our relationship in to life.
I can’t sleep. Lying close up against the wall, wrapped in my bed sheets, in my own little house, the opening notes of the piano play again and each time something else is there. I loved the song since I first heard it. But each time I press repeat the feeling builds with each bar. The lyrics resonate in different parts of my body and I cry. And I breathe. I press play again. And again. And something else is there.
“And we’ll make this thing work but I think we should take it slow”
The song taught me patience and faith and how to remain calm. It gave me time and hope. I began to understand that I cannot force perfection and that maybe it will never be. But that’s ok.
“No fairytale conclusion, it gets more confusing every day…As our love advances we take second chances, though it’s not a fantasy I still want you to stay”
And now, when we argue, which we inevitably do, I storm up to our shared bedroom and, like a child, slam the door. Hot tears burn my puffy eyes and I bite my tongue. I write angry letters full of half-meant words.
And I press repeat.
And it’s ok.