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SOMETHING LIKE THIS

Storried Something like This
 – By Cynthia

Night Crawler,
When I first saw you, scowling at the selection of condoms at the aisle that day. Your eyes glaring as if it’s presence alone ruined your day, I remember looking at you, thinking, how could someone be so beautiful?
You had on a pair of black joggers with a grey sweatshirt that looked like it’s seen better days and all I could think of was how the warm bulb over your head made your skin shine so bright.
You didn’t see me and went about with your business, sending paralyzing glares at people in your way, you looked like an incubi… And I wanted you to corrupt me.
I came by around that time every week just to watch you, sometimes you’d be in a good mood, but mostly you were always scowling and I found it immensely cute and heart-shattering.
It took me two months to find the courage to say a very stuttered ‘hi’, you stared at me and it seemed like you were wishing that I disappear. I wanted to fall at your feet.
The day I spoke to you, you had on cute shorts and a pink tank top, I thought it looked fetching on you.
Your wheels rolling as I stammered through a conversation with you while we went to the checkout.
You said I was cute and we exchanged numbers, I was momentarily deceased.
How did you find me attractive I wonder? I was making dry jokes, literally stumbling over my shoelaces, walking into walls and there was that time a pigeon pooped on me… How did you look at me and think… “I like that”?
When I asked you out and you said yes, honestly I wasn’t expecting you to. I was just hoping on shooting my shot and dealing with the consequences later. I went home with disbelief that I had a date.
Storried Something like This
I fell in love with you everyday, from the way you make me laugh, to how you sing in the shower, and how you make me breakfast the morning after I rearranged your internal organs.
I thought you were the moon I was privileged to see, like a blind man given the gift of sight only at night, I cherished it like it would end any moment.
At one point I think I actually started to listen to the voices in my head, the way they whispered of my unworthiness, how my mirrors morphed my face into something ugly and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what you saw in me.
I let it eat me raw, chew me up piece by piece and then spit me to the corner and let me wallow in self hate.
You noticed, you knew I was different, I remember how self-deprivating my jokes became, growing with every passing day. I was in darkness and I think I tried to pull you with me.
I’m glad we broke up, it might’ve taken months but I go to therapy now, I’m not saying I’m better, I’m saying I’m trying to be, for you and most importantly for myself.
I want the whole thing, I want to help you pull up your wheelchair into the corner and let you cuddle up against me, I want to get back at criticizing movies with you, with your mouth distractingly lingering on my neck.
I want you.
They say getting back with an Ex is like reading a book a million times and expecting a different ending…well books are imaginations and we can make our own worlds.
To Kayode.
Love, Daniel

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