November 23, 2016

He Was Only Almost Yours

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David Cohen
David Cohen

I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason. You fell off your bike so you could learn how to ride it properly. You didn’t get that job because there was a better one waiting for you. You met someone a year and a half ago at a bar and wake up next to him not knowing if you’d ever see him again.

But you did.

And for over a year you stayed in touch. He was away at school on the other side of the world but you’d see him when he was home – even if it was for one night. And that’s all it took. One night.

You open the door and he’s standing there with that boyish grin that makes you forget how mad you are that he showed up an hour after he said he was on his way. You smell the booze on his skin when pulls you in to kiss you hello – he’s drunk. But for one night he is yours and you are his.

You know little about him but all you care about is the way your legs are intertwined and how your head rest perfectly on his chest. And how you actually hate sleeping in that position but love it when he pulls you closer each time you pry yourself away. And how in the morning he still wants you as much as the drunk version of him did the night before.

For less than 12 hours you are each other’s. You make him breakfast – pancakes, eggs and bacon. Reality kicks in. You’re in the kitchen and he’s on the phone. Either texting his friends about last night or the girl he has planned for tonight.

You don’t know. You know little about him.

But you know he hates coffee and likes to sandwich bacon between two pancakes. You know he won’t leave until you leave which drives your roommates crazy but you secretly love it. Because for one morning he is yours and you are his.

You sit in silence making small talk about how acidic the orange juice you gave him tasted and your plans for the day. You have class, he has zero responsibilities. He walks you to campus, kisses you and you part ways. He won’t text you later, and you won’t see him again before he’s back across the Atlantic.

And now it’s 4AM, a year and a half later, and like every night before you wonder if he was ever yours and if you were ever his. TC mark

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