the 1000th replay

I don’t even know you that well. But I knew all the important parts you kept from the world. I knew your family dynamic. I knew your funny-guy origin story. I knew the way you turned your loneliness into a party trick. I knew your protective side toward your little sister. I knew your slightly embarrassed hand reaching for the bill. I knew your bewildered eyes scanning the specials menu, as if wanting something was a language you had to translate first. I knew your made-up gossip spilling out while your legs were shaking. I knew your defeated gaze at my ex-boyfriend’s caller ID on my phone.

I knew your dream to venture the world, tucked away in the neat corner of your rent-controlled, rundown apartment. I knew the relief escaping your body as we took a stroll down memory lane. I knew your swallowed pride lodged in the back of your throat as you cried about her. I knew your wistful prayers as you kissed my temple goodbye. I knew your longing stare when we met again almost four years ago.

And I wish I’d shown you that I knew you better.

I wish I’d shared about my parents too. I wish I’d tutored your little sister a little longer. I wish I’d joked about the bill to kill the air. I wish I’d taken you dancing. Wish I’d broken up with my ex. Wish I’d shown you more enthusiasm and real interest instead of acting coy. I wish I’d swallowed my ego too. I wish I’d known my place a little less. I wish I’d taken you where I adored. I wish I’d fit in where you hung out. I wish I’d ignored everybody’s murmurs and critiques. I wish I’d had the guts to pick up the phone.

Are you happy now? Finally happy now?

I wish you are. I really do. But I also hope you cannot sleep some nights from missing me a little too much, from realizing you missed out on someone who saw the real you, who accepted and chose you because she saw a companion and pieces of herself instead of the balance in your credit account. Did you know I was careless rather than unimpressed? Did you know you didn’t have to prove anything? Did you know the pedestal is the last place I would step on before taking a knife to my own heart? It’s not settling if we were equals. It’s not changing me if it’s reasonable growth. It’s not compromising if it’s natural progression.

I hate you for thinking for me. I hate you for acting “for my sake.” I hate you for being brave enough to wipe my tears in private and coward enough to let go of my hand in front of your friends. For starting over with someone else. For replying to my texts. For kissing me up.

For never letting me put you down.

we went to a hotel once. we didn't do anything. we didn't even take our clothes off. we just lied on the bed. almost touching. face to face. i rested my chin on my palm. he was on his back with his face turned to me. we didn't even talk. we just looked at one another. it was so suffocatingly sweet. i took in the details of his face, as if it would be the last time i get to see him. every time felt like the last time. every text i sent was prepared and crafted with anticipation of no reply.

and i'm starting to forget his voice. his ways of speech. his eyes. his face. his warmth. many things i tried to recall and replay in my head to no avail. i hate that i cannot move on, yet i try so desperately to hold onto the memories of him.