March 30, 2007

Love was never something I believed in. I saw it around me, but to me it was nothing more than an illusion. It was something humans had created and had come to believe just so there would be a bit more reason in the world to live. We all want to feel as though we belong, and what better way to belong than to have someone love you and want you?

I never believed in love, or I should say I never used to believe in love. That is the thing about love, and I’m not talking about the love you feel for a pet, your kids, or you parents. I’m talking about loving someone else, someone who is in no way attached to you, someone who once was a stranger, perhaps then a friend, and then came to be the most important being in the world to you. Now tell me that the idea of such love does not seem unbelievable?

Love is strange like that. It seems impossible; it seems exaggerated. You can’t comprehend it’s intensity until you are wrapped in it, ‘til it hits you so hard that you can’t ever get up and be who you were.

Love to me is a small boy with blond hair. Love to me is seeing his eyes shine with happiness, watching him squirm in discomfort. Now that sounds bad, but he is so easily embarrassed and watching the color rise in his cheeks and his body trying to hide inside itself is beautiful.

Something I never knew about love is how fragile it could be. I mean it is also strong and forgiving, but fragile because, when it hurts, it’s a pain you never wish to feel. Fickle love could be called fickle. When love hurts, you think ‘I don’t ever want to feel this way again,’ but then to never feel pain through love would be to never love again, and once you have loved, no matter how much you hurt, you always stand there wishing for more. My biggest fear is for him to hurt for love.

He will hurt. I know he will because this is a secret I’m not sure I should keep. Will he eventually find out or will we live happily, him in eternal ignorance and I in eternal guilt?

I didn’t feel guilty when I set out to do it. I didn’t believe love would blossom between us. I didn’t think this would survive the week.

I use to think a kiss is just a kiss, a fuck is just a fuck, nothing behind it, nothing good or sacred. I thought distance and time would pull us apart. Love surprised me clinging to me harder as I tried to let go. The numb ache of leaving him behind grew; the need to see him to hear him burned my insides.

I went out to forget him, to not miss him, to prove myself wrong and right. I wanted proof that love didn’t exist. I wanted to prove I wasn’t in love.

He is so cute, so adorable. You just want to protect and cuddle him.
Men kept hitting on me, and I just couldn’t react to them no matter how hard I tried. I just didn’t want to. None of them seemed good enough, pure enough, or sweet enough. I kept taking drink after drink, trying to build up my courage, but all I was really doing was numbing and silencing my feelings.

Guilt ate me apart. Guilt still burns inside me. I woke up in the other’s arms and all I wanted to do was shower. I wanted to wash their smell off my body. I have never felt so dirty before.

Six months later, I still feel the guilt of it all. I still haven’t spoken a word about it. I never did it again. I will never do it again, because I hurt. I hurt so bad, but most importantly I never want Stan to hurt a third of what I did. I hope he never finds out about what I did.

I need to enjoy his company while I have it, make the best of what is left of this week by his side.

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beta read by Venustas Iaceo ( I'm prob misspelling that sry)

this is Joseph. If you want to meet Stan please read Letters never read, letters never sent. Please tell me if you like this story.