Years ago, in 2012, I made a post about the things I found attractive in a guy; crooked teeth, loneliness, a reading hobby, a flair for writing. I'd fall in love immediately with someone of these qualities, but I thought it'd be impossible to meet someone that perfect.
When I broke up recently, people were telling me I'd meet someone better. I refused to believe it because I loved the qualities that guy had possessed: an openness to be himself, a sense of humour, honesty in letting you know how much you meant to him.
What would have been better? A guy who had the qualities from both the above paragraphs. Impossible for me to meet someone that perfect right? I did, though. I met such a guy, who also had a gorgeous smile and, at 185 cm, is also a ruler taller than me.
He noticed me first, before I realised his perfections. The thing is, he had his own affection towards the roads as well. I wasn't the only one who felt at home on the roads. Not only that, but we had so much in common, most of all his love for books and writing. Yes, I've met a tall, cute guy who likes reading and writing.
It wasn't just common interests; the way we looked at life was similar too. The way we felt, in general. Most of the time, we could sense what the other was thinking, or doing, almost like we were connected to each other by a umbilical cord. Like we were twins.
He didn't have many friends of his own, but when we first met, he was friendly, open, and he was just being himself. I really liked that. There was no awkwardness and I found it comfortable to be open with him as well.
Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight with this guy. The last time I'd felt that was a year ago, with the same guy who only recently dumped me. Of all the boys I'd mingled with since then, there were never any which I felt love at first sight, not even the date from weeks ago with Arabic blood, who was the type who could turn heads on the streets because he's that good-looking. But I just didn't feel that toward him.
We went to town yesterday, on what we called a 'bookstore date', since buying books was our main intention of going out. Of course, it turned out to be a date just in itself, because we had sushi for lunch, caught a movie, and took a walk through town with my hand in his. And have I mentioned I wore a dress? Hah.
Every time we passed a mirror, I couldn't help but pull him to look at our reflection and say, "Look. We're so cute together." because I think we really were. We looked sexy too, because we were both so tall. Hehe.
I wish I could blog more in details, but I guess only he and I are the only ones who would know the memory we created yesterday. The laughs, and the sadness.
I've only known you for a while, but I can honestly say, that I'm in love with you.
Of course, in every love story there's always the part that's fucked up. In this case, it's the fact that this guy has a girlfriend. They've been together for two years. I'm the third party, the lowest of all the lowest scum.
That's why, at the end of yesterday I had to tell him that that'd be the last time we could ever meet. Making him choose wasn't the way to go; I'm the third wheel, so of course I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice, despite the fact that he himself had fallen for me too: "Where else could I ever find a girl who's also in love with writing?"
As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had to leave. It hurt him, and it made me cry, but I couldn't risk being with him any longer because that would just hurt all three of us a lot more. I'd fall harder, knowing I could never have him, and he'd fall harder, knowing he could never leave the girl he's already with.
We've been playing these little games where the loser has to do a request for the winner; his last request for me was a whispered, "Kiss me hard before you go.", before he broke into a song about summertime sadness.
How could I have said no to that? It was the first and last time I kissed someone so perfect. The first time, in a long time, that I'd been shown love and affection from a guy while I was still sober.
The time spent was magical while it lasted. It was wrong, but love hurts whether it's right or wrong doesn't it?
In a way, he was my Augustus Waters; he'd given me our own infinity within the numbered days before it all had to be over.
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