To a boy I almost love

When almost is enough

C. Duhnne
C. Duhnne
Sep 4, 2018 · 5 min read

I have been suspended in right nows for longer than I care to admit. The open fields of possibilities that entice, and I run, barefoot, breathless with anticipation, hungry for adventure… but, just as quickly, the boredom descends. I am devoured by the emptiness, the weight of commitment heavy – a noose around my finger.

The tug, tug, tug of society, asking me “why are you single?”, the condescending sympathy etched into faces scrunched tight, “you’ll find someone soon, you’re so pretty”, as though my worth, my values, my looks are defined by who I sleep next to.

I know to hunch in on myself, make myself smaller, to not draw attention to myself because I have been beaten into submission. Shiny veneers of highlighter and lipstick, bright smiles and witty conversation. To speak when spoken to, loud enough to answer but never louder to be heard. I have been told that misogyny is not a thing, then been called out, in public, “well, I’m available for a date! Why don’t you ask me for my number?” when trying to make friends.

I have forgotten the new kid on the block feeling of relocating to a new country and starting a new job and I am confident, but not confident enough, to not feel shattered. Discouraged. Discontent.

I have crawled through 26 years of brokenness, battles with my own demons, consequences of being headstrong and young, mistakes of flesh and blood, and I am strong. I am a warrior with my mismatched socks and shiny veneers. I know how to carry myself through conversations with men decades older. I know how to fit in at the drop of a hat, but I don’t know how to be in the quiet confines of my own skin, when it’s me and me and nothing to fight about. With no end goal.

I am a dark, winding staircase, with empty rooms and dusty corridors.

I am a mess of unsure footing, capable of fitting in without knowing what I’m trying to fit into. I am happier than I’ve ever been, and not lonely enough to want to be not-alone.

I am over descriptions of “his eyes, his smile”. I like sleeping spread eagled in bed, blankets tangled around me, waking up to the sound of silence, no weight around my waist, nothing weighing me down. I like the possibilities of being able to leave when I want and go where I desire without having to plan, without having to discuss, without having to adjust.

And I am thankful.

I am thankful for the boy I almost love, for the hello that changed my life. For the journey life has taken me on. I don’t know who I’ll be without him, and I am thankful that the biggest worry I have now, is how to make friends without it seeming like I’m hitting on them.

I am thankful for the eradication of that noose around my finger. For the goodbye that broke me and allowed me to rebuild myself.

The thing I’ve learnt about love is that it is eternally yours. Whatever you want to make of it.

I have spent my early twenties crawling through brokenness, thinking I want to be loved. Thinking I am the lover not the beloved. Thinking the world of love, only to find that love isn’t it for me.

I don’t want more than the right now, anticipation of first kiss – lips almost touching, heart racing, thick-enough-to-cut-into kind of love – that is a beautiful, sweet memory. The kind of memory that will hug you through the coldest winters and blackest of nights. The kind of memory that haunts.

And the thing is… I don’t know if I believe in haunted houses. I know only of dimly lit staircases and haunted people. Walls full of sunspots where photos used to hang.

The kind of haunted that knows of love as this thing that’s meant to last eternally, without acknowledging that eternally is a fluid concept. Words are a fluid concept. Culture is fluid.

Without realizing that things don’t need to last forever.

I have been suspended in right nows for longer than I care to admit, and that’s shaped me. Deformed me. Reformed me.

I like the sweet impossibilities of imagined endings – the kind that can’t disappoint because they aren’t real. I like the boy I almost love, sweet kisses and shallow conversations of forever, back when forever was a thing, and I love you was enough. I like the peaty whisky taste of anticipation – the burn of smoky possibility. I like the nuances of self, the intricate insecurities of being the new kid on the block, the endless right nows that don’t take root but go on adventures anyway, because right now is an endless adventure.

These Peter Pan moments.

And I have him to thank. The boy I almost love, the boy whose hello haunts me. The boy I dream of, the stranger I no longer know. The love that let me go all those years ago, hurting me in the right now because he knew every right now turns into a back then.

To the boy who taught me that love can exist past “the end”. To the boy who taught me some loves live on past broken hearts. For the boy who shattered me utterly and completely. The boy whose goodbye forced me into a tailspin of despair, the boy who was my rock bottom.

if you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?

– T.S Eliot

To the boy I almost love, who gave me the tools that allowed me to learn that sometimes, almost is enough.

“…you have a tourist heart,” she goes. “Room enough for the essentials but very little else. You travel spontaneously from place to place, leaving your mark wherever you go before quickly moving on. And that’s okay.”

She finished packing her things and moved slowly towards the door.

“My time with you was beautiful,” she said. “But it wasn’t home.”

Excerpts for Now

C. Duhnne

Written by

C. Duhnne

Just expanding my universe.

Excerpts for Now

A collection of essays, fiction & poetry about growing older.

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