Drunken Kisses at Six in the Morning
She was snow on the asphalt. She was winter; she was spring. She was the moment when winter turns to spring, and I saw constellations in her eyes when she spoke of him.
She was the heavy metal that I always hated, yet I still couldn’t help picturing her jamming to it in a pair of Hello Kitty pajamas. She was blue hair and green fishnets one day, peasant skirt and pixie-toed boots the next. She was ‘hold the ice, if you please’ and ‘make it much stronger next time.’
She was the goddess that I worshipped daily, and I made my sacrifices in hugs and comfort and all the tears that I shed for her. (And I did it all gladly)
She was coffee at three a.m. and painting our toenails in every color of the rainbow. She was me forgetting my lines because I kept staring at her profile as she recited Hamlet like she was born on the stage.
She was never enough, and too much at once, and oh, God, if I didn’t get my daily fix of her lip-ringed smile I’d die of withdrawals because life had no meaning if she wasn’t walked beside me talking about birdsong in the dead of winter.
She could always see the stars, even if it was cloudy outside and my heart would break for her as I watched her staring at then on her roof, longing for someone she could never have, because I loved her and she would never be mine.
She was starlight, shining gently on me as if from a million miles away, and if only I could hold her in my arms I would die a happy woman.
She could break my heart in three words and mend them in two. She could smile at me in the middle of history from across the room and I would hear the Hallelujah chorus singing in my head as I missed the professor’s question because she had smiled at me.
It’s how I knew she wouldn’t like those CDs I gave her because they were too ‘mainstream’ but she would listen to them anyway because, so help me, I did like pretty boys singing about suicide, and to her, that was all that mattered.
It’s how I always held her above me (she was wittier classier cooler stronger better) but I never felt small when I was with her.
It’s how she kept me safe when I needed it, and how I thank life itself for bringing me into her arms one hot August day.
It’s how I knew she was flawed, imperfect, human just like the rest of us mortals that followed in her wake, but I continued to think of her as the defining example of what it meant to be a human being.
It’s how I could have kissed her when we lay next to each other in the dewy grass, but I didn’t because I knew it would hurt her more.
It’s simple, really. I made a promise to myself: that I would stay by her side forever, and would never ask more of her than she had to give. That I would never force my feelings on her, because she was leading me through back alleys in the middle of January wearing a mini skirt and I had never felt so happy.
(If I could have died right then, I swear to you that my swan song would have turned the earth to a paradise where she could in live, in perfect bliss, forever.)
But fairy tales never come true, because when we left that club at six in the morning, drunk silly and grinning like fools, I forgot everything she had meant to me and I broke that promise.
And now she never smiles at me from across the room; she never comes to school in a purple cloak; because she won’t even speak to me anymore, and I’ll never forgive myself for breaking her heart.
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