“I opened my mouth, almost said something. Almost. The rest of my life might have turned out differently if I had. But I didn’t.” — The Kite Runner

We looked at one another but never into one another. We had worked so hard to create the perfect shell of what we believed love should look like. I remember the very first time we locked eyes, over fruity drinks and slurred verb-age lost over the past few years. We thrust ourselves forward, in hopes that we could fill one another’s empty voids, where love once lived. We were lost, however, very convincing. We created elaborate feelings we could delve into so deeply that we could hide from the unspoken truth. The unspoken words which would tell the true story of us.

Have you ever told yourself a lie so many times, that you eventually began to take it as the truth? I remember stepping out of the car, heated from an argument. Frustrated and perturbed I reached for the handle of my apartment, ready to never look back, as he walked to his car. I shut the door behind me and counted to five. Something within me just couldn’t let him go. It wasn’t the love or the lust we’d shared that called me back, it was the sheer effort it had taken to get to this point. It felt like I had worked so long to make him love me, but once it happened I realized it wasn’t right at all.

I open my door and run down the stairs, calling his name as he closed his car door. The question still choking in the back of my mind: why did I chase him one last time?

We’d ignore our frustration with one another with passive aggressive remarks. We’d grab each other’s hands and intertwine them inorganically. We’d hold on to the past and our initial drunken nights when everything felt new and so promising. It’s more lonely than being alone, being with someone who isn’t right for you.

Months later the spark would fade and fade, but we would stubbornly hold on. Our families loved each other, our friends thought we were perfect, but they didn’t see the disconnect. The lackluster push to spark the flame one last time, which would ultimately go unanswered. And the sting of the tears resting on my cheek, asking me why I held on so long.