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Perspective: June's Confession

I'm May, and I'm in love with someone... who thinks they're too good for me. For so many reasons like... well I'm of this gender, and my skin is a shade or two darker than his, and I where synthetic wigs because my hair fell out after pregnancy, and I'm just fresh from divorce, and I'm a single mother of two, and I'm still in school, and I'm far away, and I'm needy. Well, I'm independent, too much so, but I'm needy because I want him. I don't really hide it, and I'm always there for him, and I answer when he calls, almost every time, and send these beautiful texts and voicemails and sing to him when he asks, even though it induces panic attacks because well I'm shy. And because I'm shy and he's perfect, well that's an issue because even though I'm myself with him, with him and others he doesn't know how it would go, because we never really go out, so he just imagines. What he imagines though, I can't confirm or defend because he won't really tell me what he thinks about me, just what he thinks he should lead me to think. So, he'll say that in another lifetime, we would be together and happy, and that maybe in the future we could learn each other again after we've healed our hearts, and that he meant to tell me that Sunday that time, that he loves me, but maybe he didn't really mean to think that because he won't confess it now. I remember when he was angry with me because I told him I loved him, over the phone, 2 am, after his shift. I didn't mean to say it. I actually convinced myself to hold it in, and hide it for as long as possible, because well, what does that even mean anyway. But it flew out of my mouth because I felt myself crave him again, and felt my heart pull to his, and realized again how his voice sounds like sweetness to me, his eyes such a deep brown, his smile such a gem, his lips... his skin, his touch, his hair, I wanted to touch his cheek and hold his head, and care for him like he was my treasure. I felt like he was my treasure, and I found the one I've always known, and my teeth pried through my lips to fix those three words, knowing how contradicting the circumstances would lead us to believe. I said it because I was happy to have known that it was true, and I wanted him to share the stress and maybe the excitement in figuring out what to do next. Anyway, the rambling ends soon, when again, like clockwork it ends and begins again. A break and a sweet good bye, and the best greetings, and the optimism that this next time, we are better, as ourselves and with each other or for each other maybe. But this time, it slows down, and I realize he feels fine when he's gone, and that it hurts a little less this time as the time before, when he changed his mind, and took back the attempt to call. How can you take that back? How can you let me hang on every call, every text, every chance, every second in deciding if I'm your friend, your love, your past, your future. I wait. And in the meantime, I try to make myself better in hopes that it would help in making me your decision. In hopes that you see my worth and love me in at least the inch of the reach that I love you. That you like me enough, to care how I feel, to care that I put things on hold to run to you. To see me the way I see myself, deserving of honesty and of kindness. Wishing you would see me, not looking past to find someone with paler skin, longer hair, the confidence to match, but a little dim to not threaten you, and a little shorter to make you feel taller, a little weaker to make you feel stronger, someone with less responsibility and a little more freedom, so that you can have the room to feel like the star without competition. I wish you could feel safe in being who you are with me. I wish you would know that the way you treat me, I would not do that to you. That there are kind people, and that because of their strength, you have the privilege of being as you choose.

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