Passion Project

by London Sperry

I could tell by his profile that I was unlikely to be murdered by him, and even less likely to fall in love with him.

Why is it always like this? Why can’t I be normal?

We were silly back then. I don’t know how to be silly anymore.

“It’s okay,” I assure her, even though it’s not. “I’m okay,” I assure her, even though I’m not.

Most of my days are spent asking questions.

Nonetheless, he would roll over, kiss me, and tell me I was beautiful. I haven’t felt beautiful in years.

Boys have it easy in life, born with all the beauty and none of the beauty standards.

He moves like there’s nothing weighing him down, like the only thing surrounding him is air. It’s a skill I never had.

Oh god, I’m more turned on by that pizza than I have been by a man in years.

Lol!

Turns out, even a pretend friend sort of feels real when you’re lonely enough.

It would be so easy to keep myself hidden from the world, sheltered in my cocoon knowing that I can’t fail if I don’t really try.

It’s like my grief has tethered me to myself, the walls of sadness like shrink-wrap surrounding all sides of me until I can barely breathe. Any movement I make, any step forward or back, is too painful. The smaller and smaller my world becomes, the more daunting it is to try to move out of the hurt. I feel close to Sam in my grief. It’s the only thing I have left of him.

Remembering that all I am is a body, a pile of organs and flesh, eases my anxiety. It balances me. Brings my breathing down.

Grounding works!

“Wise guy? What are you, a 1920s mobster?”

Ha!

Pro: I will have plans tomorrow. Con: I will have plans tomorrow.

I try my best to forget that it’s Friday night in one of the most populous areas in the world and I’m alone.

“All stories are love stories.”

Nothing has to go wrong for me to feel this way. Everything can be fine, and I’ll still find myself here. WebMD calls it a chemical imbalance.

100%

If I sleep, I don’t have to feel.

“The depression stuff. Sonya doesn’t really get it all the time. But I do.” My fingers shake as I sink my gaze into my mug. “I don’t understand it.” “Me neither.” “It’s horrible,” I say, wiping my eye with my knuckle and looking up at her again. “The worst,” she says with a shrug.

As if I weren’t just reminded of how much I ache. How I feel like a weight thrown into the ocean, sinking slowly down, and no matter how hard I kick, no matter how many life preservers I’m thrown, I can’t help but fall farther and farther into darkness.

But losing someone slowly must be like having the person and the memory of them alive at the same time.

I can tell he’s trying to keep it light, but I want to know about the dark.

I haven’t felt…I haven’t felt particularly safe to talk about it. But, I don’t know…I kind of feel like talking about it with you.”

I realize the reason it felt so wrong is because it…didn’t really feel all that wrong.

I want to be this Bennet, the clean one, because the more trash you accept in your life, the more you feel like you deserve it. I don’t want to feel like I deserve it anymore.

I could bottle up the way he’s looking at me and take shots of it. I could get drunk on them.

Passion makes things messy. It can break your heart.

This is the essence of Henry, the thing I’ve been trying so hard not to trust. I don’t know if I have the strength to suppress it anymore. Don’t know if I even want to.

I’ve never held a baby before. “What if I break it?”

Ha!

There’s something magical about being in a warm house during a storm. Something safe.

“It’ll never be better. But with you, with the project…I feel for the first time like I’m honoring that version of me. I feel…almost normal again.”

I’ve built up this thick wall that keeps me from feeling the pain, but it’s also kept me from feeling anything.

Something inside that wall rattled loose when I met Henry, at first a slow trickle, then a stream, now a tsunami. I don’t know if I can do it, get lost in the tidal wave of life. I could drown again. I could lose myself again. But it’s hard to be guarded with Henry. It’s hard to be closed off when he’s holding me as if he cares. Part of me wants to dive in, and part of me wants to stay safe on land.

I feel soft, safe, seen.

Having your shit together is not a prerequisite for love. Wow.

You deserve love, Bennet. You deserve to be happy. Don’t keep punishing yourself.”

So I thought of the scariest things I could imagine: bear attacks, Henry, scaling a skyscraper, Henry, drowning, Henry. The only scary thing that I could actually, feasibly do was scale the side of a skyscraper, so I booked an appointment.

“Being up here makes me feel small, but being with you makes me feel significant.”

AAHHHH

I’m hanging over the city, bearing my heart to her, and for once, I’m not afraid.

when I look at him, he’s downright goofy with glee—face full and bright and so painfully gorgeous, I no longer feel like looking at the view.

I let him hold me, drenched in the golden summer sun at the very top of the world, for once not thinking of the consequences of that action. I let it be.

The funny thing is that the more I act like a tourist, the less I feel like one.

I felt this was today, exploring my new city!

Every day I notice a new feature of Henry I like.

Swoon

I refuse to believe I’m not enough. I won’t do it anymore.

Watching him when he’s calm, quiet, focused, is one of my favorite lenses to see him through.

Maybe if I can admit that I want something bigger and better than just friendship…maybe I deserve it.

I hate looking at him. I hate that it still does something to me.

I made that choice myself because I wanted to be near you. I wanted to be around you all the time. I still do.”

“Do you ever think that maybe…” I clear my throat. “That maybe you should like someone who’s a little easier? Less messed-up?” “No.” He shakes his head. “Not for a second.”