The Things I Wish You Knew

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I’ve known you for almost two years now. When we met, I was not sure about you. I was getting over another relationship that tore my heart apart. I was broken and guarding my heart. Then you walked in. You were wearing a grey hoodie and black pants. It was a cold day, and you came to my dorm to meet up. We talked about each other, just trying to get to know one another, as we were unfamiliar with each other’s voices and thoughts. I was so unsure of you. I was intimidated and scared, but you didn’t seem that way. You seemed sure and calm, ready to take on whatever came at you. 

As we continued to have clandestine hangouts in the dark of night, we became more familiar with each other. My guard remained up, but you still managed to pierce through the cracks. I grew more comfortable around you, but my feelings were still uncertain. I remember one morning after we woke up, you asked to get breakfast together, and I said no, scared of liking you, scared of what it means to have feelings, scared of letting someone in—letting you in. The more my guard dropped, and my feelings grew, the more yours deteriorated. What once was “I miss you” turned to empty snaps, and the “we should hang out” turned more into “I’m busy.”

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I remember the day you told me you met someone, and all I wanted to do was melt into the floor. My guard went back up, but you remained my Achilles heel, my weakness. We kept in contact nonchalantly—friends who once had a history but nothing more than that. My feelings remained the same for you, but I kept them locked in a safe in my mind. I remember you drunkenly texted me saying you missed me, and my armor fell instantaneously. You could easily take off the armor I took so long to build. I remember you telling me that you only said that because you were drunk, and it felt like another nail in the coffin I fell into the same day you did not choose me. 

Now, you and I are both single. My feelings are still there. I would lie and say they did not exist anymore, but they were locked away. Every time your name pops up on my phone, I get excited. I told you I think I am beginning to have feelings for you again, and once again, I can feel my armor breaking down. I cannot tell you that these feelings have remained there since we met. 

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After nights where I became yours and you became mine, I kept you like a promise. I still remember your touch, your kisses, your warmth. We hardly see each other, but did what we have to make you feel the way I feel? 

The songs I have tied to you. The way we share the same sun sign as if we were written in the stars. The way I stupidly cannot get you out of my head. The way I stupidly should not like you, but I do. How we argue about things we do not agree on. This rush you bring me. I compare everyone to you. I want you, and you cannot see that.

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I keep hoping that one day you will choose me. I block out nights hoping you would ask to hang out. I wait for you. But you were never mine to begin with, just like I was never yours. Just two twin signs with a history and unrequited feelings. You chose everyone over me without giving me a fighting chance. The small memories we have together break me. I wish we never met sometimes because I would not have to feel this way. But dancing with the devil does not exactly scream boring, and it is the thrill I seek—the thrill you give me.

Strike Out,

Writer: Lauren Butrum

Editor: Noelle Knowlton

Tallahassee