The video made it look like we were swallowing each other, and maybe we were trying to. That night wasn’t about anything more than exchanging a few drunken words and sloppily moving our lips together in an awkward rhythm. That night didn’t end with you sweeping me off my feet and me falling in love with you. That night ended with me throwing up in the backyard with only my girls to hold my hair. The next morning I woke up with little memory of you. You were just a blurred image in my mind. I knew that something must have happened between us even before I saw the video. Even when I drink enough to forget me own name, somethings and some people are worth remembering. I saw you again six days later. I was sober. You were more beautiful than I remembered. More intriguing. That night I didn’t notice how blonde your hair actually was. That night I didn’t see the way your eyes sparkled. That night didn’t recall the way you squint your eyes a little too much when you smile, or that your hands rest nicely in your pockets and make you look relaxed. That night I only saw a blur, but tonight I remembered what I must have seen in you. The next night you took me as your date. We drank enough champagne to swim in. You were charming. You made me laugh. That night I forgot how funny you were and how you repeat yourself when you drink too much. That night I didn’t remember that your compliments were subtle, but still managed to put a smile on my face and make me blush. I didn’t notice how you held my face in your hands when you kissed me or how you walked me around the house holding my hand in yours. Because that night none of those things were important enough to remember. Because that night you were just another boy I used to help me forget all the pain I was feeling. But tonight, you were more than that. We didn’t talk after that. It was like you forgot that I existed. Like we had our fun and now you were onto the next, but I was still stuck on you. That night maybe it was easy to forget how you left the second I felt sick. That night maybe it was easy to forget the girl you were kissing before you met me. That night maybe it was easy to forget that you invited me home with you and you got upset when I said no. Because every other night you seemed like so much more than the guy everyone warned me about. So much more than the guy everyone made you out to be. You were easy to get over. It took maybe a week for the sting of your lips on mine to subside. It took maybe a week for the urge to text you to go away. It took maybe two weeks to stop thinking about you. I was happy. Well not happy because I have never been happy, but I was normal. Not sulking over the thought of you. I saw you again on a Sunday morning in February. It was warm out and I could feel the sun on my bare arms and legs. I told myself not to talk to you. I told my friends not to let me talk to you. I looked at you and quickly looked the other way as if I didn’t remember you. It didn’t work. You walked right over me like you never left. I was so quick to forgive you. I was already a few drinks in on this Sunday morning. It was like a holiday of sorts. Everyone wakes up early on a Sunday to start drinking at 7 am. Mimosas of course. I almost forgot how inviting your voice was. I almost forgot what it was like to be in your arms. I almost forgot how your kiss sends chills up my spine. That night we didn’t do much talking. That night one arm was extended so your hand met my waist, and the other was against the wall so we wouldn’t fall. That night we kissed for the sake of kissing, not to feel something. It was scary how all the feelings came flooding back all at once. Suddenly it was remembering everything I ever liked about you. Being with you goes a little like this. You hold me in your arms, kiss my forehead, and tell me I’m pretty. You make me forget all the pain I am going through. You make me feel better. Like nothing else even matters. We laid together in your bed. Nothing happened. We just laid there innocently and enjoyed each other’s company. We talked and laughed for hours. You kissed me ever so gently and then like you had never wanted a person so badly in your life. That night it was a different form of forgetting. That night I would have let you have me any way you wanted just to forget the way he hurt me. That night I wouldn’t dare tell you my secrets. I wouldn’t dare let you see me like that. That night was forgetting to simply forget. Today this was worth remembering. You were worth remembering. I saw you again six days later. You didn’t give me the time of day until you started slurring your words and couldn’t think straight. Even then there was very little interaction. I tried to make you jealous. It worked. You didn’t ask me to go home with you, like you did that night. You weren’t dying to kiss me in between sentences like you were that night. You left me like you did that night. Tonight feels like losing you all over again. They said tonight wouldn’t matter tomorrow like it didn’t the day after that night. Tonight you weren’t worth remembering like you were that night, but now I can’t seem to shake the image of you. I saw you again the next day. You acted like I didn’t exist. Like all the time we spent together just wasn’t important. That night you were just a stranger to me. That night it wouldn’t have matter if you talked to me or not. That night I didn’t want you, but tonight you’re all I seem to need.
February 21, 2017