The Strongest Bond

The Strongest Bond

         Do you know what it's like to love somebody so completely and not have them love you back? It's not because he's gay, or in love with somebody else, or dying. He just doesn't care for you like you care for him. Unrequited love is quite common true, but this was more than that. Every moment I could spare was thinking about him. We were friends, and he was beautiful. His beauty was what drew me in. I am not superficial, let's make that clear; I simply appreciate beauty. He was tall, and built. I always saw his shoulder muscles through the white tee-shirts and button up's he liked to wear. His skin was fair, like mine and he looked Eastern European. He was in fact Irish, with his beautiful skin and dusted pink cheeks. His hair was dark, like mine, and his eyes blinked the lightest blue. To look into his eyes was to be intoxicated.

          I loved him more than I could ever comprehend. Our friendship was never exceptionally strong in the beginning, and instead we became each others first intimate partners. It was a union not awkward but simple and wonderful. Perhaps giving myself so completely is my own fault, I just couldn't control myself. I had no way of knowing how he thought of us, so I never told him what I felt. I played it down, he couldn't possibly love me as much as I loved him, and so every time I told him we could have no strings attached, I felt like somebody was pulling a piece of my inner jenga puzzle out. I cried many nights in the cold and wind. We went on as friends with benefits for a while, and it was working. I never wanted him to leave or be scared away so I had to keep everything I was feeling a secret. That isn't what a relationship should be, I knew that. I didn't care.

          As he began to mature, other girls began to notice the beauty I had always seen in him. I got scared. Not only would he be kissing other pretty girls, he may get real feelings for them. Then he would be completely somebody else's. I knew I was that helpless pathetic girl who would do anything for her boy. I knew I shouldn't be. I should have made him take me exclusively or not have me at all. After a while of us both exploring other people while still being friends with less benefits than normal, he said to me in his sweet and sultry voice "I don't want those other girls,"

          From then on I was able to be a real girlfriend, and have a real boyfriend. He grew up so much from the childhood days when we would explore each other like clueless puppies. The heat and sun that filled days and minds never really changed, but he was a man now. He was a strong, beautiful man who loved me. I couldn't imagine myself happier or healthier than when I was with him. I had my own apartment by then, and so did he. He had a job he loved, and so did I. My life never felt static with him. We used to drive to the beach and sleep in the back of his truck. We got lost on purpose and never took things too seriously. My hair grew long, and then lost length many times and we were standing on piers with the wind blowing around us for years. Our adventures took us to corners of the earth that tourists would never know of. We took photos and kissed and he held my waist.

          I was at work when I got a phone call from my sister who was crying. When I went home, she was there. She told me with stunned, puffy eyes that my lover had been killed.

          I couldn't breathe for days. The life was sucked out of me completely. I was angry and sad and spent my days in bed in tears. The covers smothered my thoughts and dulled my mind. My heart ached and I couldn't fathom the thought I would never see his face again. I would never kiss his lips. I would never tell him that I loved him again. He would never be with me, and I would never be with him. Ever. I was a wreck at the funeral. I didn't care what people thought. If they thought I was loosing it - I was.

          Sadness pulsed through my veins for many months. I cancelled trips, and worked like a zombie. My nights were spent in tears, and I didn't go out anymore. I didn't have fun because I couldn't.  I felt guilty if I enjoyed anything.  I missed him so much. Everything I did reminded me of him. Everything I saw or smelled reminded me that he would never experience it. I had always been fairly healthy in dealing with grief, convincing myself that souls chose the body they needed to. Everybody was supposed to die how they died. I told myself that people who died were lucky because they were in a better place. I had to tell myself that.

          After a while I started believing that my lover wouldn't want me to be so sad. As if he told me in my dreams that it was okay to live. But I loved him. I loved his memory. I treasured every photo I had with him, or of him, or that he took. His clothes began to stop smelling like him, and that made me sad. He just didn't exist any more. But I love him. And he can never love me back.