In The Event This Doesn't Fall Apart

by Shannon Lee Barry

You are my deja-vu. An echo of the person I had imagined for myself. Will he be kind? Yes. Will he be smart? More than most and as much as you. And will he listen, will he understand me, will he know? Yes and yes and to a fault— and best of all, he will be better than your imaginings. There are things, little girl, that you cannot dream up.

And you tell me I’m beautiful when I feel beautiful and all the times I don’t. You text it to me when you haven’t even seen my face that morning; like you know it as a fact and not an observation.

And that night alone in my bed I cry for the third time, the last time. Not for the absence of you or the fear of what I’ve learned, but for the girl who used to fall asleep alone. Who taught herself how and did so perfectly happily for years, and undid it all in a few months for a boy who changed her mind. I cried for her, the loss of her, and the realization that I hope she never has to come back.

What is special about this is that you highlight what is special in me— things I used to hide away as flaws now feel valuable again. I used to love myself so much— every quirk and irritating mannerism, and slowly throughout life they were pointed out to me as difficult, tiresome, negative. But you call me an easy thing.

And that is what it’s like to be loved by you. I am exceptional, even when I’m awful. I am happy even when I’m sad.

But the decision to love you? It burst one day, instantaneous, fully formed, into my consciousness. When it came to loving you, it was fact. There was never a decision at all.

I am quick to point out that we’re all either going to break up or die. I tend to get attached.

Take the chance to change your life. Take the chance for no other reason than because it’s come around.