You Told Me

When we started the school year, we weren't close, you and I. I had not even considered a relationship of any type with you, platonic let alone what we had.

I wanted to keep to myself but you were.. unavoidable. An obstacle in my way and maybe you turned into an item I would have so liked to keep midway through. Like if you were a.. an abysmal sort of animal, like a cockroach, I would have backed away immediately upon seeing you.

You and your condition and your horribly thin body in the changing rooms, the way soft muscle or fat - whatever it was - hung off your body like preserved fish on enormous wooden racks in some foreign place like Norway. I resented your sunken face and your sharp blue eyes that seemed not to pierce through me, but to look through everyone. I was appalled by the disproportion that was, naturally disproportionally disproportionate.

I started to notice that your hanging flesh seemed to retreat from where it came from and your sunken face with its beady button eyes become full much like a birthday balloon deflating in reverse and especially how your body was gradually the epitome of what I wanted.

It during a lunch that you had come to speak to me. About what - I don't care. I wanted so badly without wanting to talk to you. I wanted to be your friend. I wanted to know what words you kept hidden in your sunken features and especially the smell of you. I would have sacrificed myself in the name of God and Satan to have a bottle of your smell. Such a homely and welcoming smell. And such is fate because we visited each other's house.

Much like the interactions from the bedroom pop lesbian songs, we talked and I remember having no hint of platonic attraction being felt, but in contrast to the same songs, no hint of any sort of attraction was felt, to be fair and just. We talked and asked each other questions before eating dinner together. I would have walked away from the mere prospect of talking to you had I not had that familiar curiosity within me to do so.

Our nonexistent platonic relationship must've progressed at some point because I began to crave your smell at night. I began to fear what would happen if you discovered I like your smell and your hair. What would happen if you figured out I wanted you, I think.

I think it got too much for me because I drew back.

I should have spoken more.

I stopped drawing back.

Because I think I realized on the fourth time to each other's houses.

That you liked me.

Too.

I think.

So it was after the eighth visit to each other's houses that we started doing sleepovers. We started sharing a room. We were sharing a life I think. Maybe. If you wanted to, I would have.

I admired your confidence and no longer did I notice your sunken features. Or your skin flaps or the darkness on your face.

Maybe it was never there. I think.

You looked at me tomorrow. I saw. And you told me that you wanted to be my boyfriend. I heard. And I smelled the familiar scent of your hair, on my nose. I sniffed. And I wrapped my tongue around yours and the taste was explicit. I tasted it.

I would know. But maybe it never happened and maybe it happened too many times.

You would never know.

I think.