you’re the only man who’s made me cry so far, which is surprising but not shocking (i’ve fancied you the most out of all of them). i’ve never known what was going to happen next – what you were going to say or do or make me feel. i was happy to neatly put you to the side, pressed down by my own anger and seeming apathy about you and the situation. i always said to my friends that you were good to fuck because of your own absence of emotion – the way your feelings were so far away. “there’s nothing to fall for.” they were always covered by lies or jokes or a ceasing of eye contact. you were beautiful and hard and interesting and the perfect balance of safe and scary. i said when we met that i could tell you were actually a ‘nice boy’ who was covering your own vulnerability with all this distance. i could tell by the way you gripped my slightly drunk hand on your arm during our first date, the way you told me embarrassing things and got embarrassed by them, the way you giggled when tickling me, your affection and softness for animals – the fact you don’t eat meat. i could see you. you laughed and told me i was wrong, and i didn’t believe you. your friend laughed and told me i was wrong, and i wondered if i should believe him. you could be so cold; holding me in bed then suddenly turning over and away from me, facing away to get dressed. all the hugs you’ve ever given felt reluctant. you never complimented me. i wasn’t sure who was right, so i stopped thinking about it. i didn’t think about you at all.

when i saw you again i was nervous. i wasn’t sure what you thought of me – why you’d gone away. i’d detachedly considered every possibility – you’d found someone else, i’d said the wrong thing that last time, you thought i was in love with you? i thought you were angry with me, and i thought i was angry with you too. i saw you and you looked older, in a bad way. there was grey hair in your beard and hair that i didn’t recognise, your skin looked dryer and you seemed so tired. you were also taller than i remembered, and i stood in front of you and realised i still thought you were so beautiful. i realised i was self conscious of my new hair and the fact i didn’t have makeup on and was wearing a shitty pair of jeans. we looked into each others eyes again and it was so easy. i made you laugh and something inside lit up. i wanted you to still think i was attractive, even though i could never really comprehend you ever thought that at any point. it wasn’t ego, it was uncomfortably honest and searingly vulnerable. i just liked you again.

you stood in front of me, all big and sexy and sad. you told me the truth of what had happened – the medication and where you’d been. you said sorry. you didn’t hide how desperately disappointed in everything you were. you told me i reminded you of your mum. you said you liked my hair. you told me you were off to become a soldier because you needed a purpose and maybe dying could be your purpose. perhaps it was because this was the first time i was seeing you in daylight since our first date but you just seemed so much more stark. a proper person, not just this body in a bedroom. my friend was waiting, and i felt self conscious of her, so we parted. i told you not to die when we hugged. you walked away, your jacket awkwardly around your shoulders. i didn’t look back, and i doubt you did either.

i felt so strange afterwards. my friend said i was glowing – i said it was because of the relief. i walked down to the tube and thought of where you were. i sat on the train and thought of your face. i walked back to my flat and thought of your loneliness. i felt my chest getting heavier and heavier. i sat on my kitchen sofa that you have never sat on, and cried. i felt your sadness – how unfair it had been on you, how alone you’d been, how it was such a waste that your smart capable brain has been stuck behind a bar, how it was even more of a waste that now your clever brain and beautiful face were going to be blown up abroad. i cried because i realised my feelings were present for the first time – you had shared yours and mine had leapt up to embrace them at the first chance. i wanted to help you and make you feel good. i wanted you to make fun of me and laugh. i wanted to be bored and half dressed in your bedroom, playing with the Rubik’s cube you offered me. i wanted to have unprotected sex with you where we looked into each others eyes and talked to each other. i wanted your honesty without the addition of harshness – the way you were capable of being transparent without being intimate. i wanted the intimacy – the way i interlocked our fingers on the first night to signify whenever i was being serious and wanted seriousness back (and the way you did it).

i’m crying now, and it’s all for nothing. we shouldn’t be in a relationship and we won’t because neither of us want to be. we’re not compatible at all. you would ruin my life and feel bad about it and i would let you. my brain is actually deeply uninterested – it knows all the facts and aligns with them heavily. it’s my body that cries and feels beyond my control. it’s my body that looks at you tired and depressed and still thinks you’re one of the most beautiful men i’ve ever seen. it’s my body that laughs easily at your rudeness and still fizzes at the memory of your hand between my legs. lust is so funny and strong. if we never see each other again it’s probably for the best, but how boring. 

please don’t die.