“untitled”
by Tamara
The first time I told a boy I loved him, I was twenty-five and I was sitting in a crowded coffee shop and I don’t know if he heard me. I didn’t say it again. Maybe I had been in love before, but I’d never dared utter those words. They terrified me; they loomed large and I felt that if I let them fly from my lips everything would come crashing down. But I loved him, and I knew that I did, truly and completely. I told him I loved him and my coffee was cold, but I didn’t notice. My eyelashes were matted with tears and I could barely see and I said: I love you. The words seemed to slip away into nothingness and for a moment I wondered if I had even said them. My head was swirling with thoughts and it had been a long two weeks–across the Atlantic and back, and crying every goddamn day. Barcelona had held no charms for me: stunning buildings and sand and sea, but I didn’t give a damn. I had planned to spend New Years in Morocco, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I missed him, and I hated myself. I charged the ticket change fee to my credit card, and I came home to him. I was broken, and I was losing hope. He said it would be okay. I said I love you. He looked away.
I don’t know if he heard me. I didn’t say it again.
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Read more of Tamara’s words at her blog.
