When you fall in love with them, tell them. Do not be afraid. Darling, nothing good ever comes out of fear. Tell them there was a way you lived before them, a way you told time and a way you existed. Tell them that you’ve forgotten how to do that now and that if you’re honest, you don’t really want to remember. Tell them when it was that you first thought loved them; they will want to know.
Tell them that it might’ve been that night when the two of you were talking about the future and their eyes lit up as they told you their plans. Tell them that you were listening, that you wanted to continue listening but then you saw the stars in their eyes and you got lost. Tell them that when you look into their eyes you see the universe. Don’t be afraid of sounding sappy; love is sappy. Love is a tornado, it will sweep you up and spin you around. Sometimes, it will spit you out. Other times, you’ll stay blissfully lost spinning round and round.
Tell them that maybe it was the time they had too much to drink and they decided it’d be a brilliant idea to sing that one La Dispute song at the top of their lungs even though every one else ended up groaning in annoyance. Tell them how you got them ready for bed that night, how you took off their clothes like you were unwrapping a gift from the gods.
Tell them how the light of the moon spilt in through the curtains and painted them in a sallow sort of blue that made them look like fairy you’d read about in those old fantasy novels. Don’t be afraid to tell them that you got into bed beside them, and that you placed your ear to their chest to listen to their heartbeat. Tell them you wondered to yourself which ones said ‘I love you’ and which ones said ‘I’m leaving’. Tell them you were afraid, at that moment, that they would wake up the next morning and not want you anymore.
Tell them that you might’ve fallen for them that rainy tuesday when they were reading for the afternoon. Tell them maybe it was the way they lit up their cigarette, the way their lips hugged the slip of white and how it made them look like some character Murakami had thought up. Tell them you tried to figure out their rhyme scheme that afternoon, that you tried to curve the shape of the bodies onto paper with an inadequate pencil.
Tell them about how you thought it after you guys had your first real fight. Tell them how you felt it in your heart, how you felt the tremors of it shaking your bones. Tell them how scared you were that they might leave but how much more afraid you were of the feelings you had for them. Tell them how that night you wanted to go into town, to get drunk and to find someone else less dangerous to take home–Someone less likely to make you question what they’re thinking when they go all quiet it on you because they’re lost in the crevices of their minds.
Tell them that you tried to find someone else that night but that you couldn’t and that if you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t really want to either. Let them know how for the week and a half the two of you didn’t talk, you felt like there was something missing. Tell them that you decided that day that you didn’t mind if they decided to treat you in the same way they’d treat a styrofoam cup– Sinking their teeth in to mark what is theirs before discarding you on overly cluttered table.
Or tell them that you don’t know when it was you fell for them, that you can’t pinpoint it exactly. Tell them how you woke one day and you realized just how dependent on them you’d become. Tell them how somewhere between all the drinks and laughs you started telling time by their heartbeat. Tell them anything and everything– Do not be afraid. Darling, don’t you think we’ve let the fear of what may go wrong dictate our lives for far too long? Life is too short to live in fear of what might not be.