Leave unsaid unspoken
In my heart was hope, but I harbored no expectation.
Even then, I thought we would talk, really talk, but there’s no room for emotional honesty in a restaurant, whether crowded or not, let alone in the corner of the street where you left me, breaking down in public, craving for attention, holding back tears in a taxi.
The image has stuck with me. You were no less than ten paces ahead of me — no looking back — and I couldn’t keep up. You wouldn’t slow down, not this time, not even for the one whose hands you lovingly held: when you encouraged her to continue an exhausting uphill climb, as you walked together in ordinary places made memorable by your togetherness, when you comforted her in moments of darkness while those little red smoke detector lights twinkle.
^ It ends where it began.
I am chaos. I am a mess. But I take pride in the minute things I do every day that make me a better person — even if it’s as simple as showing up after hours of tossing and turning in bed because life is getting the best of me, or putting a piece of clothing off the platform and onto the clothes hanger despite not “feeling” it. I often fail, but I try every time — even if all I ever want to do at the end of a long, tiring day at a thankless job is to plomp onto bed and forget about the world. I thought I was enough. I thought the little things that took great courage were enough.
I had plans — of how I’d fit a cement polish in the design of what would’ve been our shared space because you said you wanted an industrial look, how customized shadow boxes could preserve the paper tulips you made me that I’ve kept throughout these years, how I’d cook chapchae for you because I knew you liked it in BonChon and I was pretty proud of my first attempt at making it. I was looking to all the tomorrows with you, but the future wasn’t your priority, it seems.
I was making space for you, for us, but what you needed was that of a different kind. Now I understand why they said we ought not to make homes out of people.
The promise of a day had been put off, over and over, and I tried so hard to collect myself, to hold my breath, until you come. Then I know I’ll be safe. The door never turned, and a key was all that’s left on my kitchen sink.
I’ve made a habit of talking even after the conversation has ended, learning to listen through the silence and read between unspoken lines. I convince myself of words I intuit you meant to say. I thought you’d do the same. Maybe you did; that’s why we’re here.
How do I find anyone else strong enough to hold a heart that beats in wreckage — when the only man I know fled in exhaustion? I’m a liability; I always will be too much for anyone. It’s in the history I struggle to embrace.
As I lay myself down to sleep, still, I rest in the knowledge that I held on until there was nothing to hold on to. I can tell myself I didn’t give up on love.
When daylight comes, I hope you find peace in yourself, work on being a better man, and fulfill your untapped potentials.
Thank you for nourishing the sunflower in me. I wish my faint light had truly served as your guide before her twilight faded into the night sky. I am grateful I even had you at all. •
Even then, I thought we would talk, really talk, but there’s no room for emotional honesty in a restaurant, whether crowded or not, let alone in the corner of the street where you left me, breaking down in public, craving for attention, holding back tears in a taxi.
The image has stuck with me. You were no less than ten paces ahead of me — no looking back — and I couldn’t keep up. You wouldn’t slow down, not this time, not even for the one whose hands you lovingly held: when you encouraged her to continue an exhausting uphill climb, as you walked together in ordinary places made memorable by your togetherness, when you comforted her in moments of darkness while those little red smoke detector lights twinkle.
^ It ends where it began.
I am chaos. I am a mess. But I take pride in the minute things I do every day that make me a better person — even if it’s as simple as showing up after hours of tossing and turning in bed because life is getting the best of me, or putting a piece of clothing off the platform and onto the clothes hanger despite not “feeling” it. I often fail, but I try every time — even if all I ever want to do at the end of a long, tiring day at a thankless job is to plomp onto bed and forget about the world. I thought I was enough. I thought the little things that took great courage were enough.
I had plans — of how I’d fit a cement polish in the design of what would’ve been our shared space because you said you wanted an industrial look, how customized shadow boxes could preserve the paper tulips you made me that I’ve kept throughout these years, how I’d cook chapchae for you because I knew you liked it in BonChon and I was pretty proud of my first attempt at making it. I was looking to all the tomorrows with you, but the future wasn’t your priority, it seems.
I was making space for you, for us, but what you needed was that of a different kind. Now I understand why they said we ought not to make homes out of people.
The promise of a day had been put off, over and over, and I tried so hard to collect myself, to hold my breath, until you come. Then I know I’ll be safe. The door never turned, and a key was all that’s left on my kitchen sink.
I’ve made a habit of talking even after the conversation has ended, learning to listen through the silence and read between unspoken lines. I convince myself of words I intuit you meant to say. I thought you’d do the same. Maybe you did; that’s why we’re here.
How do I find anyone else strong enough to hold a heart that beats in wreckage — when the only man I know fled in exhaustion? I’m a liability; I always will be too much for anyone. It’s in the history I struggle to embrace.
As I lay myself down to sleep, still, I rest in the knowledge that I held on until there was nothing to hold on to. I can tell myself I didn’t give up on love.
When daylight comes, I hope you find peace in yourself, work on being a better man, and fulfill your untapped potentials.
Thank you for nourishing the sunflower in me. I wish my faint light had truly served as your guide before her twilight faded into the night sky. I am grateful I even had you at all. •