Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

But I wasn’t going to push her away with my whole philosophy on love. Especially not when her entire being was as delicate as a hydrangea. I loved her for it. But I also wanted to wrap her in cellophane as I explained that thinking about men was the equivalent to watching paint dry. Useless and it’d always end up disappointing in the end.

“It’s embarrassing.” “Of course it is.” His brows crinkled together. “It’s love. Everything about love is embarrassing. You’re pining over someone who’s across the room hardly thinking of you. That’s incredibly embarrassing. But I also think there’s something romantic about being secretly fond of someone in a way that only you know.”

“Make what work? This isn’t personal, but I don’t care to build any type of connection. I have no interest in building any type of relationship with anyone. So don’t waste your time because I’m not capable of loving you.” His face fell.

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me how to find you,” he clarified. “I saw you leaning against the balcony. Your back is practically painted in my brain.”

“What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt. The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face.

“I gave you the censored version, that’s why. I also don’t think you’re supposed to find your friends beautiful.”

“One day, I’m going to have a husband that looks at me like that,” she thought aloud, words muffled by the cushion. “And we’re going to have kids and live in a beautiful house with blue shutters. We’ll make pies together, take the kids to flute recitals, create Christmas traditions, and compile new stockings when we have grandkids. We’ll grow old together, and even when I’m eighty, he’ll still look at me like that.”

But the items loomed over me now. They were a reminder that, one day, all of my things would be just that: things. They wouldn’t be handed down to a child or displayed in a museum. The items stuffed with my joy and the happiest times of my life would be things that no one wanted, in a bureau with excess sawdust. I was a reflection of the things I carried. So what did that mean if the things I collected were destined to be tossed away? Was I just a collection of the things no one wanted?

“You keep me up every night. I dream about August. And I dream about the night before Halloween when we kissed. And I dream about seeing you kiss someone else. I dream about things that haven’t even happened.”

“The mistakes I regret the most are the ones I didn’t allow to happen. You have to make decisions with purpose, knowing that they may not be around forever. Whether that mistake could be not asking your aunt about the past or letting that handsome friend slip from your life.”

I pressed my hand to my back pocket, feeling the impression of the souvenirs, before walking out of the store and leaving a trail of unspoken words behind me. Suddenly, we were strangers again.

Sabrina’s moving to Scotland, and Mia’s moving back home. ​I was trying to digest it, but it wasn’t working. I knew distance would form between us at some point in life, but I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly. Not right now.

For the people who matter most, distance is nothing

My heart reached my throat as her eyes shifted to my face. I wanted her. Every fiber of my being craved her. I swore it was written all over my face in permanent ink.

Don’t Be In Love — Adelaide

I prefer you in every room. I think there are many things about you that people find attractive, Adelaide. Tell me to stay.

Then tell me you care for me. Because I care for you.

Don’t Let Her Go — Dorian

“You can’t just make me fall in love with you and take it all back,” I whispered. “Say something. Please.” Her eyes were dewy. “Are you sure?” “What?” I asked dumbfounded. “Are you sure that you love me? Because if you take it back in a few months or a few years, I don’t know if I’ll survive it when being in love with you has already been this treacherous.”

Maybe forgetting was all about forwardness. To remain steady on the path forward while trying to pick up as many stones filled with gratitude and joy and hope so that the resentment that fueled the lack of forgiveness didn’t overwhelm the present. There was something beautiful about falling in love with the uncertainty of life.