Sunday, February 3, 2013

the one who

I wrote this a week or so ago on January 24th but didn't end up publishing it. I don't know why I didn't post it right away, I just didn't. However, my papa doesn't like it when I back post blog entries so here it is:

Six months ago today, I woke up but didn't really want to.
I was still living at home at the time so I laid in my comfortable bed for a while, listening to the laundry machine run and my Mom put away dishes from the dishwasher. Eventually though, I had to get up, shower, and do my hair. I opted for minimum make up because I wasn't sure if much of it would stay on; I was already planning on the tears, for today was the last day I was going to be seeing my boyfriend of 26 months for two whole years.
Missions are wonderful, truly, they are! But they're also hard. Including for those who are left at home. Me. I was going to be left at home. My best friend was going to be leaving me for 733 days with no communication but the snail mail system. This was the guy who cleverly helped me with my math homework without me realizing he was helping me, the one who kidnapped me for breakfast on each birthday but still managed to make it a surprise, the one who made me snowball with him at the roller-skating rink like a cheesy couple from the movies, the one who covered my eyes in the scary parts of movies, ate the tomatoes off my cheeseburger, believed in rain dances and would make me do them with him, and the one who made lying on the floor doing nothing the funnest thing in the entire world. Ever since the first day we met, Curtis had this power over me that I wish I could explain but it made everything else around me not really matter. All of a sudden, when I met Curtis, I found direction.
He picked me up around 11 and we drove to Kneaders while attempting to make small talk. There was an elephant in the room. A really, really, REALLY big, fat, neon yellow one. Once we picked up our food (his sandwich and my salad), we took it to our park and had a picnic. I ate as slowly as I could but eventually, somehow, there were no more lettuce pieces to be picked at or played with. It was time to go home.
My mind started racing.
Once we got home he was going to say goodbye and drive away. Why did he have to drive away? This was the one who bought footie pajamas because I bought footie pajamas, the one who ran through the sprinklers with me every Summer, who made me try new things like shrimp (Ew.), and who played a prank on me IN THE MIDDLE OF A HAUNTED HOUSE (and I pretend I'm still mad about it but secretly, it was pretty dang funny). You guys, he's the one who let me talk about Grey's Anatomy for hours on end when he didn't really understand what was going on-- or probably even care for it for that matter but the point is that he listened because I wanted him to. He listened about everything a lot.
Going home was bad because that meant goodbye. And I wasn't ready to say goodbye to the one who made me feel like the most me.
I made him come inside, and we headed down to the basement aka our favorite (and most common) hangout spot. No more would be the movie marathons or game nights down there. Our hushed arguments (that he would always let me win) weren't going to occur down there for the next 24 months. And though at the time of these little bickering's, I felt I could have been happy without them, minutes before saying goodbye, I realized I was going to miss our disagreements now that I wasn't going to be able to have them anymore.
We sat on the couch, didn't say much, just sat there, with his arms around this girl right here, ya know, the one that was curled up in a ball at the time, and he told me that it was going to be okay. And I believed him. He has always been the one who could turn my worst days into good ones and this included this dreaded day, because he was right. It was going to be okay. Maybe it wasn't going to be good, great, or perfect, but we were going to be alright.
After I made him promise to be safe and make good choices (ya know, the usual stuff), we went upstairs, stepped outside, made our way to his car, and I said goodbye for the final time to the one who kissed me for the first time under a shooting star, insisted on paying on all of our dates, taught me how to carve a pumpkin and throw a baseball, and always let me use his chest to rest my head on when I was tired.

Can't believe it's already been six months.
Praying for the next 18 to fly by.
525 left.
I can do this because it's worth waiting for the one who makes you the most happy the most of the time.

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