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making too many memories with you i lost count but the lingering stares stole to gaze at you. i correct myself — making memories with you i have forgotten because i never had you alone for myself; only for a moment; only for a while — to separate what had happened and what i had created in my head to get through the reality that you were never mine.
i was a partial thief who hid amongst the crowd in awe of how you move. and if i could touch your skin again i would proclaim it to the world.
we barely spoke to each other thus i only remember the sound of your laugh, faintly so. you did not toss your head back like it was a natural occurrence; you covered your mouth was all i could think of.
oh, i remember it now. you laugh with your neck arching down as if you are ridding off something non-consumable that somehow made its way towards the inside of your plump mouth. you bang your left hand on any hard surface you could find. your eyes become long slits.
i cried, the day after august ended. i cry now because i do not remember if you laughed at any of my jokes when we spent a week together at your house.
we were accompanied by the darkness, by the moon, by the air-conditioned space in your room. i could only stay until dawn at four.
you asked me, “jennie, are you sure?” for the second time before i replied because i thought of how serenading my name sounds on your tongue. “never i have ever before,” i reached for your taut arm and you pulled me in closer than you ever did.
was that the first of august? or was that the last of it? did you embrace me because you felt like it, or was embracing me the most fitting action to pursue in the middle of the night, in front of your back door?
i have so many questions for you that you will never know.
“how are you both?” collective giggles urged me to smile harder than i wished, all the while stiff in my stance. they did not notice it, rosie, as they were adamant in prying into our business that i too do not know surely about.
“we’re fine.” and that was the truth. we were fine because we did not fight, we were fine because there was no evident problem, we were fine because that day you looked at me and smiled. and i stuck to that
before they asked me more on how we developed feelings for each other. i told them this and that, this and that, and this and that, that was not as close to the truth but not as far to it either. i told them this and that and i was giddier than hearing your poorly made pick-up lines.
i had a conversation with your friend once. he told me he taught you how to move around me — with grace, with malice, with what you should already know — and it felt wrong that i thought you should learn a few more tricks from him. he was caught an abuser by the end of the year.
you told me “he’s a jerk, he’s a player,” and i never bothered wondering why you rarely called me by my name.
it’s funny now, the amount of times you uttered my name with your friends compared to the amount of times you uttered my name when we were both alone for each other to know better.
it’s funnier i never had you for myself to memorize like a five-paragraph prayer.
rosé, rosie, my rosie,
how did it feel when you claimed me as your trophy to your friends grinning from ear to ear? did it stroke your ego when they chortled in excitement? did it make you feel like you were the most valuable player on the planet?
did you think i wouldn’t feel objectified?
did you think it was fine? i think so, i didn’t say anything after, anyway. i smiled, i remember. the way i pulled the muscles of my face upwards to display my content, my pleasure. the slight furrow of my brows for confusion.
“of course i’m happy, my trophy is here with me,” and i took it in because yes, of course, i’m happy, rosie, that i was there with you.
of course, rosie, for you i’d be anything just to be called yours.
of course, my rosie, for you i’d decrease my value just so you could be bigger and occupy the space that is ours.
how many times have you painted my image with your name before all the handsome ones strayed away? how many times have you hid from me the importance, if not more, to my self-worth? how many times do i have to manipulate the thoughts of you that have formed a goddamn face over the seasons?
i have no idea what your favorite season is. i have no clue what you do in your free time besides working out and practicing sports. i don’t know your favorite color.
i don’t know you, rosé.
and i’m not certain if i have just forgotten the simplest details of you that a schoolmate of ours knows, or — i don’t know.
“you’re too witty for me,” what was a compliment felt like an insult. i understand it now, what that meant: lower yourself down for me. and i did!
“you’re too beautiful for me to deserve,” and so i scratched myself for you to say something else.
“i love you.”
“i love you too.”
how cruel and naive were we?
you probably think me callow — i defended you to all of my friends who knew more about you, i defended you to myself that begged me to walk away, i defended you to my upbringers who stigmatized what we had — a walking amateur of a lover.
you probably laugh, laying down with your new girl, talking about me with your mouth closed as you swallow your saliva in silence, agreeing with her identifying me as a pathetic bitch who could never be as near as she is now with you.
you should be grateful, to me, only to me. that i let you go so you could lead your feet to her, your…are you even capable of saying something about her? did you change? or are you the same person i have no idea about?
“rosé,” i called, “rosé, could you please pass me the hot sauce?” not expecting your tongue to wipe off the remnants of the chicken wing’s grease on the dimple beside my lips. you giggle once and say “okay” with the accent you picked from youtube. that was the moment i realized i want you for a lifetime;
which should have been easy. being able to love you should be easy. being able to love you should be freeing —
like a kid spending a whole afternoon playing with the neighbors, like a bird migrating to a warmer place, like a planet orbiting around the sun —
because being able to love you was natural, rosie.
it was falling asleep after a long day, it was feeding my cravings, it was laughing at a joke meant for me.
you were all i ever wanted, rosie.
you are all i ever wanted to know.