When I think of Francis, there\’s a curse of angry blood that shivers through my arms. There\’s a sense of sorrow for what I wanted and what I couldn\’t have. And maybe a sense of self-entitlement. I would like to think that he misled me. I would like to think that he did this on purpose, out of malice and displeasure. But what I can say, there\’s clarity. There\’s the moment of pain when you say…well that wasn\’t for me.
I knew that it wasn\’t for me. But my eyes and my heart got torn away. And I knew what a bad idea it was. And I think…well what if. We wouldn\’t have many similar interests. We wouldn\’t see the same things. I would compromise myself in forcing myself to like things that I didn\’t really like.
When I said to him, \”You know, I don\’t even know if I enjoyed much of my time with you.\”
It is partly true. Maybe all true. I think how I faked my smiles and how I told myself: this is what you\’re supposed to enjoy. This is how you\’re supposed to be an adult. This is what it means. Instead, I felt like I was being someone else. I felt that I couldn\’t be myself. I couldn\’t enjoy the sweetness. I couldn\’t really relish the films, the bitter foods, and the long bike rides.
The best part of being with Chris is that I never felt that I had to pretend to be anyone else. I could just be me. In my love for gossip, in my love of sweets, my love for seeking meaning. I wonder if I sense judgement really quickly and that I can feel it falling upon me like syrup, tearing down my veins, hurting me.
It hurts me this pain of Francis. Sometimes I want to erase that whole year away.