To A

Dear A,

You can’t get closer than this, I thought, stirring my coffee and smiling. Without looking up, I knew you’d be sitting there with that look in your brown eyes. Serious, concerned, intense, frightened. You were just a boy, just a nervous little boy. And I didn’t care. It doesn’t matter who we are, or when we are, or where. All that matters is doing the right thing with the time that is given to us. We joked around, and I remember envying myself. And all the girls you’d meet in the future, and the girls of your past. To have a part of your life, to be close to you, that’s all that’s important. The necessity for anything more is stupid. Why would you want more than just one instant of perfection? If everything is perfect always, how could you relax? You’d always live in fear of a collapse. Of the end of things. Take each minute as it comes, take risks, forget to care. That’s what you taught me. And it’s a lesson I intend to remember. Memory’s a funny thing. Six weeks forward from that day, six weeks forward from realising that I, you, we were on the brink of something, and I still am there, still stuck in Starbucks with a cup of coffee and a poem on a piece of folded paper that you’d just handed to me. It’s a beautiful poem. And it’s one I intend to keep. Maybe when I’m brave enough I’ll stick it up onto my wall, make a collection of all the precious things people have given me; which reminds me, I haven’t worn the necklace my first boyfriend bought me since the day we split up. Funny how that sort of thing happens. But that’s a shame, because it is a beautiful necklace. Who cares that the beads are made of glass? It’s real, artisan-crafted glass, from Venice. But even that isn’t why it’s precious. I like trophies, because I like to remember people by the things they gave, which is why part of me finds it annoying that the second and third boys I went out with never gave me anything tangible to keep. But then again, it’s hardly surprising. They didn’t really affect my life in the same way. Alec did because he was the First Boyfriend, and you did because well, you were The First, in the full, overblown dramatic sense of that phrase. And I’m glad it was you; I wouldn’t have had it any other way. You were so close to being perfect that it almost hurt every time I was with you. [censor'd?]And I know if you ever read this (which you won’t) you’d find the innuendo in that and laugh. [end censor]I mostly remember you laughing. You were always laughing about something or other. You were playful, childish, wonderful. In all my life I have never known anyone like you, and yet... you are nothing special! How does that work? I don’t understand how you can be someone so utterly perfect, utterly amazing, and yet be pretty **** ordinary. I remember your intensity though. You are a healer. You made me feel so much safer with you than with anyone. That’s why I knew we were right together. And even though it was only for a very, very short space of time, you made sense. We made sense. The ‘us’ that we had was important to me. I don’t care that it lasted hardly any time at all. You will come back to me, as a friend, and I look forward to it. And maybe one day, if (as people have said and I am ignoring) you come back to me as a lover, it will be wonderful. Life is cyclical. It has a funny way of tying up loose ends. Maybe we’ll turn out to be a loose end that needs tying up. Maybe we could spend the rest of our lives together. Maybe, somewhere out there in a strange loop of time, we will. I won’t hold my breath, because you’ve taught me how to live, and I am **** well going to. I look forward to the rest of my life.

Much Love,
C x