I don’t remember having ever cried of joy.
At the age of 15, I already had lived through two heartbreaks, the most recent one having destroyed who I was, entirely. Even later that year, I let go of my father who did nothing but break me. I’m not saying I did not have a happy life because that would be untrue. I’m saying I had lost all trust in men until he came. I was 17. I don’t really know why I chose him. Maybe was he just at the right place at the right time. Maybe was it the honesty and trustfulness in his eyes, or the gentle and caring way is fingertips caressed my skin, or even the touch of his lips against mine, so soft I could’ve stayed locked there for so much time. Maybe was it about is enchanting fragrance, or about the way his arms had found their way around my fragile body, like an armour. At first I saw nothing but that.
Then I remembered I had felt all of it before, and how it had ended each time. And I got scared to lose it all again. I was terrified that I had opened up to love just to be crushed again. And again. And again. But I fell for him nevertheless. Perhaps my biggest mistake, perhaps my best chance, I wouldn’t know. He knew that I had been harshly bruised before, harshly beat up, and yet he accepted to love me besides that. He accepted it all. Although he had had to make me throw up and even pee at that night party. Even when I was in such a mess he had to bring me back to my parents. Even when I admitted to him that touching him was hard for me since my last heartbreak had somehow pushed me to take all of him in my mouth. He understood and accepted.
I met him thanks to a common friend we had. I’ll never be thankful enough. He’s the heart that beats in my chest, the blood running through my veins, the cells composing my entire body. When I’m in his arms I feel so comfortable and I get the feeling that we could last forever. Then my rational brain reminds me that nothing is eternal. And love even less than that. So I try to enjoy every second spent with him to its fullest. I don’t want regrets when it will be over. And I’m writing all of this wearing his hoodie. The one I prefer. It still has his smell. So it’s like a part of him is here with me. I’m seeing him tomorrow. I’ll spend the day and the night, and it does fill my entire body with joy.
I don’t remember having ever cried of joy. Until I found the courage to say “I think I love you”, an instant passed when he locked his gaze in mine through the dark, and answered “Me too”.
Written by Louna Castano