Choices

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“I think it’s all a choice.”

You say. 

“I think it’s all a choice. Like I choose to wake up early in the morning. Like I choose my clothes. Like I choose the eggs for breakfast. Like I choose my job. Like I choose who I’ve become. Like I choose to sit here now. My thoughts, my reactions, my actions.”

You pause. 

“It’s all a choice.”

You look at me. 

“And I chose you. I wanted it to be you whose messages bring a smile to my face. I wanted it to be you I look forward to seeing each week. I wanted to lie in the grass and look at the sky with you. I wanted to learn your coffee order and your favourite foods. I wanted to sit around and do nothing with you. I wanted to sing shitty karaoke and kiss drunkenly on the street with you. I wanted to talk deep into the night with you, sacrificing my own sleep to hear your words. I wanted my favourite person to be you.”

A wistful smile.

“It’s all a choice. And when I decided to choose you, know that I would’ve continued to. Over anything, I would’ve continued choosing you. Through anything, I would’ve continued choosing you. When I chose you, it was because it was you. And that was my choice. And you have made yours.”

You look away from me.

“I liked you. I really did. From the very beginning, I might have liked you. Or maybe I didn’t. But regardless, I ended up liking you.”

The wind fluffs your hair.

“I took my time. I wanted to make sure I liked you, not just the feeling of newness. I wanted to make sure I saw you for you, not just the projections of my romantic desire. I wanted to make sure the thoughts in my head were stable, were reliable, not just a fleeting interest. I let my head burn. I let it all burn, until it was quiet and calm and I could see you clearly. And even once I took off the rose-tinted glasses, I still liked you.”

You look up at the night sky.

“You’re so cool, hey? How could I not like you?”

And your bus has stopped at the traffic light, as if giving you the opportunity to finish.

“My emotions are a choice. My love is a choice. But I understand that yours are not. I understand, and I respect that you do not feel the same way. Thank you, for your patience. Regardless of if it was intentional. I had a really great time.”

And your bus is now here. 

“I hope the person you do end up choosing, is good for you. Because you really are great.”

And you’ve boarded the bus. And each time we’ve parted, you’ve never looked back. 

And perhaps I’ve had to watch that, every time.

 _____________________ 

What did you think about, on the bus home?

How long did it take for you to reach home?

Did you listen to songs in a language I can’t understand?

Did you stare out the window as I did?

Stare, at the same night sky as I did?

Somehow, I don’t think so. 

I think you opened your phone.

Got off at your stop. Walked home. Went to bed.

It was just another day to you.

I wonder if you realise you have walls of diamond. And you’ve locked yourself in so solidly for so long you don’t even remember how to leave.

Everyone knows you, but not one person in this city actually knows you. You show them only what you want to, you show them only what you can. You showed up one day, with your strange perspectives and your strange accent and your strange ability to talk to everyone. With your seemingly endless interests and ideas and words, always words, so many words. And you shine, glimmering, under the beautifully cut diamond. And everyone’s drawn to you, moths to a candle. But who are you, really? What is your name, really? What do you look like, really? How do you have so many facets, and what were you before you were cut into a million different faces? How are you so polished, and how do you feel so real? Rolling around in your diamond egg, touching everyone you pass yet never letting yourself be touched.

What are you hiding, under your eloquence? What is it you are so afraid of? What is it you are trying to conceal? You say your emotions are a choice. Does that mean you don’t feel them? Do you feel anything? Can you feel anything? Or is it hard and cold and crystalline the whole way through?

And I suppose, whatever it is, you’ve also chosen that.