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A Word Called Love

As you walked towards me I swear my heart was stuck between beating 100mph or stopping in it's tracks completely. Hearts are funny that way; even when they know nothing would happen—ever, mind you—they still refuse to stop reacting. I suppose that's called hope.


The hope is gone now, don't worry, but my heart still reacts. I guess it just can't give up. My hope spilled out in salty, wet tears the day you came to me about your problem. No one would accept you or the person you loved...because he was a guy too. I cried that night. For you. For me. For everything we'd never be. It didn't last long because you didn't deserve a friend who only thought about herself and I'd never do that to you. I suppose that's called acceptance.


Then came the day I woke up to an email...and a phone call. There would be no more late night conversations. There would be no more conversations at all because that morning you were driven to a hospital several hours away from me. They told me you wouldn't be able to come out until the angry red lines on your wrists ceased to multiply. I just knew that, as I stood there in my bathrobe, staring blankly out the window, they were pumping you full of drugs. A monster inside me reared it's head in protest. That was the day I shut everyone away. I suppose that's called fury.


Three weeks later I finally saw you again. You wore a smile on your face that warmed everything inside me and when you hugged me I never wanted you to let go. I was so scared I'd lose you again. There was an emptiness in your eyes. I wanted so badly to ignore it but it tore at my insides, vying for my attention. I closed my eyes and pretended it didn't exist. How could anything be wrong when you wore that smile on your face? How dare it? I suppose that's called ignorance...or bliss.


I knew it was coming but I never let my mind wander on the subject. You told me a story about a civilization who spoke Spanish but never said 'adios' unless someone was dying or otherwise never to be seen again. My heart thudded in my chest; I'm surprised you didn't hear it. You held me close as you told me you loved me as your best friend. You have no idea how much it hurt when you finally let go; bidding me goodbye with that single word I dreaded hearing, and the proceeding 'just in case' didn't lessen my worries. I've never shed more tears than I did that night. Nothing could get me to sleep. I didn't want it to be true. I prayed all night that I wouldn't have to answer the phone tomorrow. That no one would be calling for me. I suppose that's called fear.


I saw you again a few days ago. I saw the daunting red slash. This time you hugged me and I didn't let go. By some miracle you were standing in front of me and I wouldn't trade that for the world. In a few short moments I realized that I would do anything to see your smile, I'd give anything to heal those marks on your wrists, and I'd take on any burdens that made you feel less than perfect. If you needed a shoulder to cry on I'd be there in a heartbeat, and if you needed to be let alone I'd respect your wishes. There were no boundaries to what I wouldn't do or wouldn't tell you. So what if I said those three little words? I know it wouldn't make a difference. That's okay. My heart wants nothing more than to see you happy anymore. I suppose that's called love.





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