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Sign My Guestbook
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This story was written about my ex... I would trash it but I like the way I wrote it. So I'm keeping it. I meant every word when I wrote it.
Three Little Words Love. It’s a strange thing. Different people describe it different ways. For me, it was a moment of absolute clarity where everything in existence seemed perfect —— the ultimate perfection. It was in that small moment that I can truly say I found myself and realized who I am. I have to say that love is the supreme ambrosia. I suppose I should start at the beginning. See, I never really liked the concept of love before. I used to loathe it. I used to fear it. Love was a fairytale. Real life is full of pain and torment. What was love anyway? Love made people weak and vulnerable. I refused to be put in that situation. Some called me heartless. I don’t know; maybe I was. I refused to feel. It didn’t matter to me how many people I was hurting. I used people for what I wanted and when they no longer served any purpose to me, I dropped them. It’s funny how things change when the tables are turned, however. When someone else hurt me I demanded vengeance —— even though I was going to dump him anyway. So I ran. It’s a primary instinct, I guess. Any time I face a problem I can’t —— or more likely, don’t —— want to deal with I run. It’s interesting that I chose to come here to a school I never heard of until I got a little card in the mail. What could be in Vermont? Some school in Poultney —— which sounds a lot like poultry. No one would know me. It’d be great. I could try starting over. Then it happened. I, of all people, was falling in love. I don’t know what it was. I already read his letter. He made me cry! How dare he! We went to lunch and ate in silence. I pretended not to notice that his hands were trembling. He was probably pretending not to notice that I refused to make eye contact. Marriott food never looked so interesting in my life. We ate in silence. Or at least I tried to at least pretend to eat. I just wasn’t hungry. I followed him back to his room where we sat for a few minutes in awkward silence before he confessed what he felt to me. I looked into his eyes and froze. I was scared. No, not scared. Something more than that —— terrified. That was the moment when I realized there was no choice. I had to say the words. The words I dreaded my whole life. The truth was I loved him. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? It was infuriating. "I—I—I…" I choked on the words. Why did it have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t I say it and get it over with? Words have power. Words gave power. Just three little words. That’s all it would take. I just listened to him pour his heart out and yet I couldn’t say a simple sentence? "It’s okay; you don’t have to say it," he said suddenly. I knew he heard the words even though I didn’t say them but they had to be said. Now or never. "I l—l—l…" Dammit! Say it! I urged myself. His eyes lit up. With hope? Understanding? Maybe both? I don’t know. I was open and vulnerable. One simple mistake and I could easily lose myself. I doubted I could ever fully recover from a loss like that. For some strange reason I found myself thinking of songs from Broadway musicals. No day but today. Vivez. Carpe diem. Carpe noctem. Carpe cerevisi. Well, maybe not the last. "I love you!" I gasped, looking down. Now I was trembling. I said it! It was liberating almost, even though I was trying to turn into ooze so I could slip through the cracks and crawl into a hole and die. But I said it… Finally, after fighting and denying so long I actually said it. "What?" he asked in an unreadable tone. I could have killed him. Did he have any clue how hard that was for me? How dare he make me repeat what I said? Damn him. Damn him to hell. He was lucky enough that I actually said it. Miracles only happen once in a lifetime. "I love you," I repeated, only less mumbled. Damn those words again. Damn my heart for betraying me. I liked not feeling. It was comfortable. Warm. Things would never be the same again. I wondered if it would ever get easier. Would I ever do it again? I don’t know. I hope not. Once was enough.
© March 27, 2000
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