exit strategy

People talk in smoke signals when all you know is morse code. Did the sweet moments not count for anything?

Should I even honour you with my words?

That’s the true dilemma. When I think of you, there’s a warmth in my heart and a sense of wonder, but then I think maybe I’m imagining it. It didn’t quite start out well, that’s not a story I like to tell - but somewhere between sitting on that couch in your living room, watching TV or talking to you, I started to trust. I began to trust that when we’d be alone, we’d be the same people we’d be when we were around other people. When I told you I had too many bags to carry, you’d come downstairs and carry them up for me. You had some sort of serious breakfast addiction. But then we’d sleep late, you’d skip it, and you’d stay in with me. I liked the balcony and the pace and the smoking, but most of all I liked you. The probing questions, the simple way we could laugh and flirt, and I’d know if this ever ended, you’d be the one with the broken heart.

That made it easy. To walk around your house, and sleep on the other side of the bed, and give my love away, freely, willingly, with little to no restraint. I guess I’m that age where I adore familiarity. So the sightof you in the hotel lobby freaked me out. The charm of that broken room, and your pleas at work, did the trick. I’m going downstairs to borrow matche,s you’d say, and you’d disappear. I started to see less of the asymmetry and enjoyed how you were growing on me. I watched you order fruit bowls and coffee and eat and walk around with me, and when I got upset about missing the sunset, you were thrilled. I love this side of you, you’re such a travel junkie. I just don’t think we should miss the last sunset, I said, as it passed me by, once we missed the boat.

And then there were the inevitable gaps. Did you not want me there? Your attention was a tad bit touch-and-go, and when I sensed it, I closed the gaps. I pulled you closer, but how could that have worked out anyway? You shouldn’t have to convince someone to want you back. And I didn’t want you back. But I liked the comfort and the care and the brackets around whatever we were, because it was easy. Easy to buy flowers, show up, and make some effort on the weekends, when I know you wouldn’t miss me. But didn’t you miss me, wouldn’t you miss me?

I’d never say no to sex with you, you’d say, but that was obvious.

What wasn’t obvious was your confusion at my clarity. People talk in smoke signals when all you know is morse code. Did the sweet moments not count for anything?

That Sunday, I slept in, and you comforted me. Sleep as long as you want. I like seeing you this way.

Wearing a saree in the metro with you, and your slight discomfort at playing it down, at how much attention I was drawing.

Even the women are checking you out.

See, I can dial it up.

And then came the changes. The slow ways in which my life didn’t look the same.

But I loved the car rides with you. It felt nice and comforting and below my standards, but I also thought about how badly you’d make a good husband.

Is that what pushed me to the edge? Some would say I was already there.

At the brink of some serial monogamy.

Begging for couples’ sinks in the bathroom. And getting picked up from work, and knowing that if you’re making a drink, I’m getting one too. This time, I didn’t ruin anything. But I am grateful that you let me go.

People can feel like magic, and I’ve brushed aside many people, but I’m glad I didn’t do that with you. I’m glad you’d shave for me, and I’d fuck up the plans sometimes, but I was learning to tiptoe around what I felt. You loved me, I could tell, and once when I got drunk and asked you something of that nature, you said, I want to love you, but I’m not sure you want that.

Long story short, I always knew where the exit was. And no part of me wanted to run to it. It was present in the back of my mind, but I didn’t entertain it, because at this point in my life, you made sense.

It made sense to love you and to trust you and to think - oh, I wish I could spend all my time with him. It would be embarrassing and an adjustment, but not so bad, because it grounds me. But a lesson learnt.

Phones can ruin things. And friends can ruin things.

And maybe overthinking and under-speaking can ruin things.

But ruin is a risk you take, and maybe I’m proud I explored more of myself when I wasn’t sure this was the best idea. But when you bailed, I didn’t blame you too. Love was too unmanageable for you.