A Ten Year Love Story

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 “I’ve been in love with someone for almost ten years now.”

The question from the projector reads: 

What is something you can’t let go of?

You sit next to me, my discussion partner for the past few weeks. Your hair waves ever so slightly in the subtle breeze from the air-conditioning.

Our discussions have been interesting. But you are very good at steering the conversation, and as the semester has gone by, I’ve only just realised how little I actually know about you. 

And there’s something in the way you say this, which I’ve never quite attributed to you. 

“Can you imagine? Ten years of my life, thinking of her. Trying to understand her. Trying to meet her. Trying to be with her.”

I look at your smooth, unwrinkled skin. I look at your soft hands, pinching gently at each other. I look at your hair, luscious and dark. Ten years is a long time.

“But it’s already been so long, you know? I think I knew her for even longer than that, but I only really fell for her ten years ago. But it’s a fucking long time.”

You close your eyes. Your expression, strangely quiet.

“I desire her. I desire her and I crave her. And since it’s been ten years, I think I love her. But I told myself, at the end of this year, that it would finally be time to end things between us.”

There seems to be a dampness fringing your eyelashes.

“I’ve thought about her so much. Some days all I do is lie on the floor and think of her. No phone, no music, nothing. Just me and my thoughts of her. I think about how beautiful she is, I think about how perfect she is. I think about how warm it might feel to be held by her, and how soft her breath might sound. I think about how wonderful it might be to be with her. I think about her. I think of her. I think and I think and I think and it’s her and it’s her and it’s her.”

I want to wonder what she may be like, to enthral you so much. You, who never seem to offer more about yourself than necessary. You, who seem to be interested in everything yet passionate about nothing. I wonder if, perhaps, she is why you are never quite present enough, never quite definable enough.

“But it’s been ten years. I’ve been thinking about how, maybe, it’s time to let her go. But how can I? The very thought terrifies me. She has been the one person I’ve tried so hard for, the one person I’ve wanted for so long. What would happen if I lost her? If I let myself lose her? What about all I worked for before? All I put in?”

You open your eyes. You look at me, a bitterness deep behind your expression. But I know, it is not directed at me. 

“I’ve loved her for ten fucking years.”

You sigh, looking back at the question.

“And this year, I have to decide. I have to decide if I go to her, if I stay with her. Or if I simply meet her one final time. If we should have one final conversation, one final moment. And I’ll walk away from her forever, and I’ll promise myself to never want her again.”

What is something you can’t let go of?

“But she’s always been there for me, you know? I am only the person I am today because she’s been by me this whole time. She’s been my comfort, she’s been my peace. All this shit that comes with growing up. She’s been with me through all of it.”

But your smile hurts, even to look at.

“I used to think it had to be her. She was the one for me, the only one for me. If it wasn’t her, I wouldn’t want anyone else. It was always going to be her. It had to be her.”

Your mouth opens slightly. It closes. It opens again.

“No one else knows me like she does. No one else has stayed with me like she has. No one else, but her. But what happens, when I lose her? Do I lose myself? Do I lose everything I’ve done? Do I need a new muse? Can I even find a new muse? How can anything ever hope to compare to her? How can I even think of comparing anyone else to her? How would I forgive myself, if I never thought of her again? How would I live, if I never thought of her again?”

I don’t quite believe you’re describing love. 

“Would I even be alive, without her? Would I exist, without her?”

You don’t believe it either. 

“I sound insane, don’t I? All for her. The things I’ve done, the things I haven’t done. All for her. The past ten years of my life. All for her.”

You shake your head.

“But I’m not sure anymore.”

Perhaps, we are thinking of the same thing.

Perhaps, it is time to let go.