Deep

We played this game every time we went out, we would make up stories of people based on the colours they wore, the food they ate and what they drank.

I would always go first and my stories were ridiculous because I didn’t really care for sounding smart, I cared for making you laugh. The way the laughter started slowly from the corners of your mouth to the furrows of your eyebrows gave me shivers, good shivers somewhere around my heart.

The stories you made up were illogical and a tad bit psychopathic. You made them that way just to make me narrow my eyes and hit you with the face palm expression.

So that day when we sat at one of our favourite food courts. I got a pack of orange juice, you got a coke.

We were playing our regular game but this time you went first. Your story was about a guy wearing a grey shirt and drinking a coke. I looked around and found no one who fit that description but as you spoke, I realized the story was about you.

You said the guy was repressed, scared and needed a friend. I laughed and shook my head at how typically mad you sounded. Then you turned to me and asked me to be your friend. I didn’t understand at first so I just stared at you. Then it hit me so I quietly asked if you were breaking up with me.

The weight of your silence told me all I needed to know. The silence sent shivers, bad shivers right to the centre of my heart. You spoke again asking me if I could be your friend while you fixed your repression and fear. I drew a deep breath and said I’m okay with that but really I meant I’m not okay, I meant no,

I meant please say it’s just a story,

I meant I don’t know how not to love you the way I do now,

I meant I have loved you this way for so long I don’t know how not to,

But I sat there and said its okay and I held your hand while you cried.

And it hurt because even with my own heart full of tears, I still wanted to make you laugh.