I convinced myself if it can happen once, it can happen again. It wouldn't matter. All the doors can slam shut at the same time and I'll be just fine. I've always been just fine with things ending.
This time was different.
When I finally let up and opened one of the doors a smidge to your undying knocking, you were there with teary eyes. Maybe it was the undying knocking. It must be. Or the way you spoke to me. I thought I had quit you, but you weren't quitting on me, even though it had seemed like you had. On multiple accounts, I had left confused and my heart poked, the same reasons.
So when I finally let up and opened up a smidge, I heard you say that,
you saw me in every Subaru, every green car, the one that picked you up from Charleston, WV, and dropped you back,
in gas stations and the car charging wires they sell for $15,
you saw us on the subway, giggling hard after our own comments, the ones that made other strangers who must've overheard smile a smidge,
in the attention to the timbre of others' voices when I said that conductor's voice was fucking hot and definitely in Charlie XCX's "party 4 u", because it was our anthem in your little white car,
the way someone would laugh with their head thrown back and the abundance of cheek and littling of eyes,
in the mention of Lasik or Ohio or Texas or marriage or pregnancy,
in someone nerding out to League,
the slight mention of a boyfriend or two, in Taylor Swift's concert, a joke about Matty Healy's rat boyfriend vibe, Taylor's new album drop,
in public policy or my Mom's Facebook page for some of my pictures >-< or my blog and its earliest episodes,
"like a boyfriend" you said. "Like a boyfriend", I said,
you remembered me when you connected your Spotify to your Discord on purpose in case I'm online and can see what song you're listening to and I felt so silly and laughed into our Discord call, head back,
and you remembered me when you're back at Smith on your site visits, our Paradise Pond and the proof that they cut down the tree with the beloved swing, the way you'd leave your sneakers at my door years ago when you successfully snuck into my triple on the topmost floor of Haven house like a ghost and stayed the night in my sleeping bag or my bed after cheerleading practice, the same spot where you won the lottery and got us Taylor tickets,
the way I'd wave at you goodbye and adieu as your little self shrunk out into a night lightly snowing like a painting I saw for one last time and didn't know it, stolen from the Louvre,
when there's a club and people are dancing in it and we both remember when,
we were best friends.
I remember you too
in a peach High Noon, in Taylor's "Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince" in its specific line "it's you and me, that's my whole world" to which we both cried like babies at the bar,
I remember you in plastic bags, when after my ex had called it quits and like a treasure, you visited me on Thanksgiving, and you saw all my plastic bags, my depression plastic bags, and you helped me roll each and every one and now I just have to roll them, every time,
I remember you in "party 4 u" because duh,
little white cars and whenever I see the "Premium" gas option,
when I'm in my civil engineering job and well, you're a civil engineer and you'd totally get drainage,
when it's Wednesday and it's our day, it's been that way for 2 years until it wasn't,
and well today is one of those days. A non-Wednesday. A Sunday. And we just finished playing League together and I feel hopeful again.
People come and people leave and people end things. And sometimes I end things.
But this time, someone actually fought for me, even when I was slumping, even when I was lagging and wasn't there. There was no ego you upheld. No contract on your end. You did the rare thing.
No one's ever fought for me and for us like you did. I'm so used to people leaving and never coming back. I'm so used to never looking back too.
But this time was different. It simply was.
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