Love is all about resistance. Anything can go too far, if you think about it too long, but as far as I can tell, love is the most dangerous. Love will not just drag you down, but it will drag someone else and then you’ll both come crawling out, torn, disgusted with what you’ve seen of human nature, and full of bitterness and hatred. That’s if you’re lucky. If you’re not, well, we know what happens to those who love too strongly or too hard. They disappear sometimes.
I fell in love and it’s all I can do to wake up each morning and remember to brush my teeth. Cook breakfast. And what impels me forward through the slush if not love? For every moment is either spent recalling the last moment we had together, or the next time we might meet. Now the months of waiting are over and in front of me are months and months of sleeping in the same bed, eating the same meals, and catching one another’s eyes as our days fold down in front of us.
I’m not sure I know how to do this anymore. How to not sit for hours in the sunlit chair waiting for him to pass by. How to not beg him, silently or with my lips, to not leave, not yet. How to not clench my teeth when I come. Don’t look at me scornfully or roll your eyes and dismiss a single thing I’ve said. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ve never been in love. Never even felt the hopeful stirrings of fantasy and unmet expectations. In short, you aren’t human, at least, not yet.
But wait! It will be okay. Take a deep breath, distract myself, write the damn paper and look up at the stars in the cold air. Keep the distance and resist every impulse to throw myself at his feet or in front of the next train. Things will be okay.
I don’t want to disappear.