You asked me, why you?
Because it is.
Plain and simple.
With you, it is basic and carnal and biological. Inexplicable. In a room full of people I’m looking for you. It’s you I want beside me at the dinner table. It’s your name I crave flashing on my phone, arriving at my inbox. I am drawn to you, and it was that way from the start. Your presence makes me calmer. More able. Reassured. Knowing you, being around you, having the privilege of your attention – you make me laugh, and you make me braver; you quiet my confusion and make me see clearer.
(You’re also disarmingly handsome.)
Four years ago I handed your miserable ass face a bowl of pasta and willed you to understand, to know, that you’re magnificent. I knew it as fact in my bones. Since then, I’ve learned from – and with – you. From a distance, mostly, I’ve seen you struggle and fight to become the person you’ve known you wanted to be. You’ve not once accepted “good enough”, even when you’ve faltered. And you have faltered. You’ve made mistakes. You’ve been crippled by indecision and confusion and hurt and you’ve picked yourself back up again to soldier on because you give a shit enough never to give up, and I see that. It marks you as different. You’re bolder than you give yourself credit for but I know. I’m watching. I’m your witness.
You punish yourself – get frustrated and negative – because you somehow perceive that you fall short of some kind of “should”. You “should” be this; you “should” be that. I take you as this, now, here in this exact moment. I always have, and I always will, because there is no “should” – at least not for you. You are an inspirational teacher. A gracious guest. A fantastic conversationalist. You put people at ease (you put me at ease), you have the manners of a God, you ask questions. Pay attention. You’re good natured and kind, you smile with your eyes, you’re going to be the most incredible father and husband and you’re already a stellar friend, interesting colleague, doting son and cousin and grandson. There’s no “should” when you’re doing your best. You’re so much more than what you’re not – and you are already so very much. I wish you saw what I see. I am in awe of you.
This time we’ve spent together – I want it forever. The time we’ve had together before, it has always been fleeting and temporary. I knew we were two jigsaw pieces who fit together quite wonderfully, but having these full weeks with you… well. Now I know for sure. The food, and the talking, and the walking – for me, it has been everything. If the rest of my life were eating pasta sat by your side, looking at the sea, that’d be some life. I get butterflies when I know I’m seeing you because you get it. You get the travel, the movement, the searching. The asking. I am understood by you, but I have the most amazingly fun time with you, too.
Of course it’s you.
I know that you’re experiencing the most tragic of heartbreaks – the kind of heartbreak that isn’t smashing plates and raised voices, but the quiet, devastating acceptance that you tried something and it didn’t work. I don’t want anything from you. Not now. You have so much… unfolding, is the only word I can use, to do. The ducks you thought you had lined up in a row need reorganizing, figuring out, and you have to do that alone, for you, without interruption. You have to drive for a bit.
I cannot speak for you. I can only offer you my truth. Not sharing it feels like a lie, and I don’t want there to be lies between us. I feel close to you. I trust you. I could build a life with you. You’re special to me, and together we’re a force. I had to say that out loud, because two years ago I feel like I missed my chance. I was timid and uncertain. Time has passed and I’ve grown into myself enough, too, to know what I want: I want you. I want us. But I’m telling you that without a single expectation.
You’re my friend, above all else.
Whatever happens is up to you. When you’re ready. In time. Forgive me for being so selfish as to tell you straight up, though: when you want me – if, indeed, you do at all- I’m yours.
You asked me, why you?