Three years later, I’m here. In the enormous stadium, with a hundred thousand more of screaming girls. It was all I’ve been waiting for. I will see you. And you will see me.
And you will see her. And her. And her. And her. And a hundred thousand more versions of the word her.
It was quite unfair, don’t you think? How I only had my eyes for you, and for only you. How for the last three years, I haven’t looked at anyone because anyone didn’t match the effect that you brought to me. You were the only boy I saw and you were the standard. You were the standard that no one could match. Up to a few moments ago, I was thinking of this. How our love story will go.
It might be uncanny and fictitious and no one would probably believe me when I tell them our love story. “We met at their concert,” I’ll say. “I got a pretty decent seat in front, and I was singing my hearts out to every song they were singing. He kept walking back and forth the stage, from the left to the right, to the front, from the back. And as he was singing those words, the words that I found powerful enough to catch my heart and hold it for three years, he looked at our direction, my direction and two…three…four…five… five seconds later, he was still holding my gaze captive like he was a pirate and I was the goddamn treasure box. Like I was the most precious thing his eyes have ever laid upon on.” You will smile as I tell them the love story, and you will tell them how it gets better every time I tell it. Because in my wildest dreams, I really thought that the delusions that I had whenever I was listening to your music, whenever I was watching you sing the songs live (even if it was just in YouTube), will not be delusions at all because it will happen.
But if there was one word that could just sum up these thoughts, it will be delusion. Because as I stood there, as I watched you sing every song, I was sure to notice two things:
- Your eyes were everywhere.
- Your eyes were at everyone.
And my stupid, obsessed, crazy and delusional mind has finally made me realise this:
Your eyes will never be just for me. I should just stop.
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
Because maybe at this time, love means differently. Maybe it does not have to be something returned to be called love. Maybe being there was enough to be called as love. Because right now, love is you. Love is your music. Love is the fact that you tell me the words that I wanted to hear from a boy. Love is the fact that you fill up the space that my heart yearned for the years that I have been waiting for the real guy. You were the love that will prepare me for the real one. You were the love who will teach me what it was like to really love. And even though I know your eyes will never be solely just for me, I will still love you.
So say what they may, crazy, mad, obsessed to the point that I was already being stupid. It will be as if they could make me stop. It’s not as if their words could make me stop me from loving you. They never will understand anyway, right? The kind of relationship that you and I share is very abstract yet tangible, imaginary yet real.
Because if it isn’t real, why am I here? Why are they here?
You have changed my life, baby. You taught me what it felt like to be loved and to be made special. You may be on that platform they call stage and I will be somewhere on the ground…maybe even in the bleachers, but I know that as I watched you sing the words as if you mean them so much, as I closed my eyes, savouring every word, every note, I know this: there is only you and me. You are there. You are real. You are happening. And I don’t care if as soon as I open my eyes, your eyes are anywhere but at me, because I’m sure whoever’s eyes it is you are laying your eyes upon on, they probably felt the same joy…the same intensity of love that I felt when you once sent it to me.
// // //
I’m sorry this is so shitty. I was having a boring night and the idea of the first few lines came in my mind and I knew I just had to finish it and get it out of my chest.
My feels because of the reality I just made myself see is so intense the my tears might fall like the showers that are British.