I Only Learned Bad Things.
Friday, February 24, 2012 @ 10:47 PM
I only learned bad things from you. I habitually lie, pretending everything is alright. In front of you who saw me with my walls let down, I smile a small smile and swallow my tears. You only saw the bright side of me, the side of me that was always "okay". You never stopped to think about the hurt your actions caused.
When I sat, alone. Every tear that fell echoed, I will never love again. I learned to love from you, and like a simple flick of a switch, I forgot how to love because of you.
My heart beat quickly, as again it betrayed my mind. Love comes from the heart, not from the mind. Illuminated by a single light directed only at him. And I again I loved.
I habitually lied. Not wanting to be seen through again, it was hard to even hug him. A motion that came so easily to me, was cupped preciously within my palms as if it would break if I let it be seen. I learned only bad things from you. I learned how to lie. How to pretend my way past it all. That's how I swallowed my tears.
Affection was no longer a reward, it was now a weapon. One I kept closely to me, unwilling for it to be used against me.
The lights flickered. The subway doors against closed, I closed my eyes and the announcement of the next station was inaudible as I tuned it out. I was tired. But it was nice, as you sat next to me. You looked at me as I rested my head against the glass. Worn out, tired out.
The subway jolted as it halted to a stop again. My head naturally fell to your shoulders, or so you thought. As my head rested there, I thought a dangerous thought to myself. Maybe I could love again. The sensation was warm and comforting. You glanced over at me, adjusting gently so I could be more comfortable. Little did you know, this feeling was the greatest comfort my heart has had in the past year.
You paid little attention to the sounding announcement as the doors opened and closed again. We were bound for the last stop. It would take a long time. Your head drooped a little, resting against mine. And soon, it was natural. We fell asleep nestling our necks like giraffes do.
You became a friend, one that was always there regardless of what I said. Gently reprimanding my actions, but standing as a guardian as well. I dismissed it as the love that an older brother would have for his younger sister. So I called you "oppa", yet I was still scared to hug you, afraid each time that I would be given away. I'm young, and it's awkward for me to say the word "love". I'm hurt, and "love" is a word that can't escape my lips ever again.
So as we sat by the piano, the keys resounding under my fingertips, your voice melding with mine. The sound of the guitar ringing through the room. I choked a little as the lyrics I sang were, "I love you". You didn't push me.
You never asked, and I never told. But the words came fumbling out of my mouth as my perfectly bright image I created for you was torn to pieces. You patted my head and wiped away my tears, holding me in your arms like I had been scared to do for so long, telling me that I was worth every minute you spent on me, and the many more minutes to come.
He reassured me.
He loved me