Not all the right words everywhere but sometimes they count. Say it for me so I don’t screw it up, saying it myself. Perhaps I’m not the only one?
RT Mun Yee:
You shouldn’t have made me love you. You really shouldn’t have. I wished instead of sitting down and having a conversation, you’d just walk by. If I could pause, rewind to the moment when we crossed these socially constructed boundaries, I would. I would stop you right at the summit before the proverbial fall. I wish that you hadn’t asked me out, got to know me, hold my hand, leaned in.
But now that you have,
You’ve made me crave for you. Now your presence is like a fountain that I must drink greedily lest I waste away in thirst. My body only responds to your touch or the sound of your voice. Now when I’m alone, the bed feels too big, the empty seat in front of me, insulting. Now I can’t imagine what would happened if my world no longer revolves around you; if you no longer anchor my universe. I am an addict.
You’ve made me pathetic. The way I would wait faithfully by my phone for a text or a phone call. How I would wait at the front of my gate to catch one final glimpse of your disappearing taillights as you pull away. Or how I lap up the small tokens of affection; a squeeze of the hand or the awkward hugs. I wait with bated breath, at the end of every conversation, to hear you say those three words. I am pathetic.
You make me worry. For the pettiest reason. Like when you work late nights or have you had dinner. I get angsty when a text goes unreplied for too long or if a call doesn’t get through. I worry when you’re unwell, when you had a bad day. I worry when you drive in the rain, or late at night. I worry about your ex, about other women. I worry.
You’ve made me horribly insecure. Like when we are at the mall and you never make an effort to hold my hand or pull me close. Or when you never show me off to your friends or introduce me to your parents. When I see how there aren’t pictures of us in your phone or on your Facebook wall; it made me question if I am a part of your life that you are not very proud of, that surely there must be something wrong with me. So I’d suck it in or pad it out. Shave. Straighten. Dye. I am insecure.
You’ve made me less intelligent. I no longer calculate risk or look before I jump. I can’t make adult-like, sensible decisions anymore. Gone are reason and common sense. I am ruled by primal emotions, triggered by all things you. I am stuck on stupid.
But you have made me love you.
And with all of that, you’ve also made me genuinely happy in a way only you can. You’ve led me to believe that I am capable of loving and being loved. You made me feel as if I could possibly be worthy.
Perhaps I resent that you’ve the ability to do all these things. Common, insignificant you. And I hate knowing that one day, you could very easily decide to take it all away. Don’t get me wrong. I am glad you made me love you. It’s just that now I realized that (and you do too) how dependable I am on your love.
And that I pray you feel the same way too.