me + you = God?
My first love was a genius. He was beautiful, funny, and had a sex tape he posted online.
He was manipulative, beautiful, sensitive, and lost. I don’t know if I’m writing this shit out of the feelings he invented for me. I’m not sure if that was love. It just felt different.
I felt that every 90's R&B song was about us. I knew that God made us in pairs. I was certain that our names were written next to each other. I thought we were the definition of love.
I was fucking crazy for him.
He knew I was crazy about him because he could leave me on the floor of a hotel room to go fuck someone. And I’d forgive him. And I’d take the blame.
“I’m sorry I drank so much.”
“This is why I had to leave you. My ex would never do this.”
“I’m sorry, I love you.”
He knew how loyal I was to him because I would always come back to him. I would give my life for him. I would do anything he told me. Whatever made him happy.
He had me in the palm of his hands. I would have done anything he asked me to. Absolutely anything.
I attended a wedding. He was there but I didn’t notice him, he spent the night and next week asking everyone about me. “Who was that girl with the long hair? She has Asian eyes?”
We ended up at a birthday party together and that’s where he introduced himself to me. He ran up to me in the parking lot. He told me I was the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. We exchanged numbers.
Our first date was at Dave and Busters. I almost didn’t go. He was too good for me, it was too good to be true. He was what every girl wanted. He was a genius. He read the weirdest books and knew every song by 2pac.
By our third date, he told me he loved me. And I loved him.
We planned our wedding, our honeymoon, where we would live, what are kids names would be, how many kids.
Turkey. Jamaica. Somewhere with a beach. Laila. Asad. Aamir.
I told my mom immediately. I was so happy. I showed her a picture of him and she approved.
I wanted to marry him. I finally found love. I found a man who I could see myself with forever.
We were so happy. We even agreed to get matching tattoos on our ring fingers, because who the fuck wants to spend that much on a ring? He was my dream come true, but even better. I could have never imagined someone so perfect for me. I was so thankful to God.
We planned to elope. I arrived too late. He was upset all day about it. I cried.
I told him all my secrets. All my regrets. All the things I kill myself over. He told me everything about his past, his hurt, his abuse. I don’t think anyone in this world knows more about me than he does. From the random bruises on my legs to the things that keep me awake at night.
During one of our many breaks, I found myself at a bar with him. I found myself taking shot after shot with him. While 2chainz was playing in the back, we were slow dancing in the middle of the floor. I remember staring into his eyes and knowing that life was perfect here. It was hazy but I felt beautiful and loved.
He always knew what to say to me. He always called me baby and my heart would skip a beat every single time. He would call me Ashley or Jessica or Bethany and I’d push it in the back of my mind, he’s just had a long day! He was with his classmates.
He wasn’t a religious person at all. He was atheist. The last time he prayed was 10 years ago.
I knew he loved me because he started praying again. He said that I inspired him to believe in God again. Isn’t that the most pure form of love? I thought so. I still think so.
Yet, I found myself trying to prove my love, my beauty, my intelligence, my loyalty, and my body to him.
He kept questioning my love for him. My intelligence. My physical attraction towards him. I became a puppet for him. I never wanted to argue with him. He didn’t like me wearing red lipstick, so I stopped. He didn’t like it when I took selfies, so I stopped.
He controlled me. I let it happen.
During Ramadan, he fasted for the first time. He kept his fasts. His mom was so happy. His siblings were in disbelief. I was so proud of him. He prayed. We prayed together. He led prayer and his voice was so peaceful. We broke our fast together. This was love. He was what I imagined an angel to be.
We stayed up all night talking to each other. I wasn’t the best to him. I was shy. I tip toed around everything. I wanted to be as perfect to him and he was to me.
He broke up with me three days before my birthday. We got back together. On and off. On and off.
He would go off and have his time with other girls. I tried to convince myself none of this was happening. I was lost.
When I said I was crazy, I meant it. I would start assuming he was with a girl all the time. I would question every time he told me he loved me. I would try to prove my love to him over and over again. I was overbearing I was too much I wasn’t me I was loud I was emotional I cried too much I did too much
But during our off times, I felt relief
We ended and I didn’t leave my house for months
I had a nightmare every single night
I cried myself to sleep most nights
My grades fell
I dropped weight
My brothers were worried
I saw him again months later and my heart still dropped
He took all the love from me
No one has made me feel the same
This is my fourth Ramadan since then
I wonder if he’s been talking to God