Candles

Noun

The sticker on the bottom said it would burn for 55 hours.

I lit it on a Thursday, to mourn a singing bird, and a version of me that I realised had also passed on. For 55 hours, I thought, I’d take solace in my bedroom, and my own melancholy thoughts, and maybe after that; after tears and a song and 55 whole hours of just sadness, I’d be ok.

I’d move on.

You showed up around hour 3. You knew something was wrong, you said, when I’d just run out after Warbler practice. You put your arms around me and the hard, cold exterior began to thaw.

You seemed different.

We stayed in my room until the 7th hour, talking and not talking, our words mingling and colliding in the air when we both tried to speak at once.

“Sometimes I think I care too much” I said.

“I’m sorry” you said, and you weren’t talking about the bird.

I felt something lift.

We said goodnight, and it felt like you were holding something back. I didn’t ask, because I knew that if you wanted me to know, I’d know. I left the candle burning while I slept. Ten whole hours. I woke up feeling better.

It was somewhere close to hour 23 when you found me in the common room and asked what I was doing.

It was somewhere close to hour 23 when you took my hand, and told me your theory about moments, and I felt my heart begin to constrict and then bloom; something between fear of the unknown and daring somehow to hope.

It was somewhere close to hour 23 when you kissed me and I came apart, and everything that had come before seemed suddenly less important. The sadness was muted when your mouth met mine.

Lip to lip, and everything else went quiet.

At hour 24 we broke apart, panting and grinning.

At the 31st hour, you called me just to say goodnight. The candle was still burning, the dancing flame representing something new now. Love? Not yet, but a whole lot of like. I fell asleep thinking of you and a whole.lot.of.like.

You were at my door before I woke the next morning, somewhere in the hour between 41 and 42. The candle was still alight, but I wasn’t really sad anymore.

“Come on” you said, and I took your hand.

We were halfway down the stairs when I stopped.

“I have to do something” I said, and I turned around and went back up there, and I just…blew. And the flame died.

I guess I didn’t need that time limit on my grief anymore. I was ok, I think. It felt nice to be ok.

It might have been close to hour 55 when we sang about candles on a competition stage (a coincidence, I think, but maybe you saw it burning that first night?).

It might have been close to hour 55 when we said goodbye to the singing bird, and goodbye to us-without-each-other.

It might have been close to hour 55 when you took my hand and I felt fine. For the first time in a long time…fine.

I don’t know. I didn’t need a candle anymore, so I just stopped counting.

Our light never went out.

* 

Cheat

Verb

I think the part that hit me hardest was that when you accused me of cheating, you made our relationship sound like a game.

I wasn’t angry, really. I was scared. How could something as huge and complicated as you-and-me, and you, and me, be something that could be cheated?

My mistake then was in thinking we were infallible. I was so secure in our love, underneath it all, that I didn’t even think.

I guess I thought that our relationship was so cemented, so concrete, so strong, that I didn’t even have to consider it. Our ship would sail on regardless.

It was completely the opposite, of course.

Our relationship was so important, and it was all I should have thought about.

I’m still sorry.

All these years later, and I still wish I’d realised that life kind of is a game. And that the only way I can win it is as part of your team.

* 

Climax

Noun

All of my favourite moments have been with you, but something tells me that for us, the best is yet to come.

It’s hard to tell the climax from the rest with you.

Which moment do I pick, when in every single one you make me so happy?

* 

College

Noun

It was a sore point.

You felt like I was leaving you, even after I promised I never would. You went through phases, clinging and retreating, and all I could do was try to understand, and let you do what you needed to.

You made me numb.

First, I felt guilty for leaving you. I thought so many times about staying, but we were so young, Blaine. I never could have forgiven myself if it all went wrong.

After that, I was angry. I hated that you’d put your insecurities on to me, and I hated myself for hating that. I loved you, so much…shouldn’t I be sensitive to your concerns? I think maybe indulging your fears would have forced me to admit to mine.

I guess I just wasn’t as strong as you.

And so after angry came numb. I went to New York feeling raw, and exhausted, and terrified, and I closed myself off to all of those feelings, and threw myself into my new life.

It didn’t work without you.

The first time I met you at the airport, I remember smiling. I remember smiling, and the ache in my face, and the realisation that oh…it had been a while.

I remember the first time we fell asleep in my New York bed, and how that was the moment that the traffic noise began to feel like home. You were holding my hand, I remember, and I squeezed, and you smiled at me, and yeah…home.

Watching you go back to Lima never got easier for either of us. Sunday mornings were full of denial and too much love for two people; Sunday evenings were reserved for tears, and missing you already. A year isn’t a long time, we kept telling ourselves. We’re fine, we kept telling each other.

I just couldn’t wait for you to get here.

I’ll never forget the day you arrived for good, and never-forget seems far too small a sentiment to even begin with.

We made it, we did it, we survived, but god we were glad it was over.

I learned so much, that year.

So much more than what was taught in the classroom.

* 

Crazy

Adjective

You moved school for me, and then city and state.

I danced in the rain for you, and drank cheap wine, and watched your misguided attempted at wooing somebody else.

You relaxed me.I gave up snapping my fingers and wearing too many layers. You gave up hair gel.

We made each other cry. You left me and I let you go, and then you came back and we shouted and screamed and cried some more, but this time I stood with my back against the door because I needed so much for you to stay.

“I think we’ve made each other crazy” I said, once we’d fallen back together.

“Isn’t that how we know it’s love?” you said.