December

It's not like in the movies.

When you realize you love someone, you imagine yourself running to find them, desperately calling them. In your mind's eye, you see a declaration of love, a kiss, and a walk off into the sunset.

Needless to say, that's never how it happens.

You stumble over the words. It's not graceful; it's nowhere the epic, beautiful sentence you had planned out in your head. You can't look at her face, for fear that it will give you all the wrong signs, that you'll know by the look in her eye that this is no longer what she wants.

You should have looked. If anything to save yourself from the embarrassment.

You give up on words, go in for the prince's kiss. Sentences fail me, but there's no way she can mistake my meaning here.

But in this fairytale, you're the frog's fool.

She rests her hands firmly on your chest. Doesn't succeed in pushing you any further away, but the intent is clear. This is not the happy ending you envisioned.

"No..."

You're aghast. You look at her, as if searching for clarification. She must see it in your eyes. She's always had a way of reading the brown that seems to keep everyone else out.

"I'm seeing someone," she continues.

You continue to stare. Absent is the usual response that would come in conversations with other ex-girlfriends. There's no demand to know whom, or where, or when. You continue to watch, because you know no one could mean as much to her as you do. This isn't cockiness, you tell yourself, this is experience. This is four years and falling in love every moment we got the chance. And she knows all too well that her reason isn't good enough.

"Remember what you told me a year ago?"

You raise an eyebrow, cock your head to the left.

"Not too long after I returned, when I came to you, ready to pick up where we had left off."

And doesn't it all come back flooding now.

"I love you, I always will. My best friend, my boy." Her fingers graze your cheeks. In this moment, her contact seems to mean all the more.

"I love you, Nichole, I always will. You're my best friend, my darling girl." One hand in hers, the other under her chin, ensuring that her eyes meet yours.


"But I want to see where this goes, even if it may be nowhere."

"But I want to see this through. I don't think it'll go anywhere, but I started it, might as well finish it."


"He's nice. He's given me no reason to hurt him like that."

"She's nice. I can't fuck with her like that."


It's implicit now, just as it was then: I can't drop everything just because you've come running back, even if that's all my heart is telling me to do.


"But Nich, even then, I knew that I'd eventually come back to you."

And for a moment, you wonder if that was the best choice of words. Because she might storm out in anger, demanding why, if that were the case, you didn't have the decency to let her know.

But as she sighs, you know there won't be anger. Your relationship has never been one of arguments and fights, and it won't start now.

Her hands trail down your cheeks and brush against your sides as she grasps your hands.

"I suppose that somewhere deep-down, I knew that as well."

The pause lasts several seconds. She's looking down now, no longer at you. Her memory is far in the past. You stay silent; even if you wanted to disturb her thoughts, you would have no idea where to begin.

She hesitates, struggling with what she is about to admit, weighing it in her head, then continues slowly, "So, deep-down, what do you believe?"

You nod, afraid of letting your voice betray your disappointment, your impatience, but allowing her to know that you understand. That deep-down, you know - as she did - that you would ultimately find your way back together.