Untitled

She would look away and I would look at her.


She would talk incessantly about how things were, her petty concerns, her mundane thoughts. Her laughter would ring inside the coffee shop. I would chastise her with crossed eyebrows. As always, she would ignore me and start ripping me with her sneering laugh. She would breathe life into uneventful things. She would fire up any boring topic. She would never take me seriously. Neither would l, seemingly. I would look at her lovingly when she turns to talk to her friends. I would analyze every strand of her hair, every squint of her eyes, every gesture, hoping she wouldn’t notice me admiring both her perfection and imperfection.

She would share her woes, her angst. I would either starve or feed her angst. I would listen to her sadness. Hoping that I, through listening, would alleviate her misery. I could only share my shoulder. I could only share an extra unused handkerchief, which I would carefully tuck inside my pocket every day, hoping its size could contain the outpour of emotions being blown to it. I would joke around, making a fool of myself, just so I can see the smile behind the tears. I would give anything to see her smile. She will tell me about her admirers and who she likes. I would envy them in secret. I would feel jealous. I would feel her pain. She would not feel mine.

We would try out every place where there is food, from polluted streets to posh overrated restaurants. We would pretend to be food critiques and make up stories. I would sip expensive coffee with her, even if it would mean having to endure eating pancit canton for days, until my urine smells like coffee, until I palpitate during sleepless nights. I would save up for movies, Googling the synopsis so I won’t appear idiotic. She would fall in love with the movie star. I would fall in love with her.

She would tell me more about her life. I would compare notes about mine. She would widen the abyss that separates me from loving her. She would make me realize that I can only love her in silence. I would make that painful resolution that I cannot step up for her. I am too afraid of the consequences and rejection. I will regret not having enough courage to tell her she is the world to me. I can only watch her from afar.

Yes, I am secretly in love with her.

***
Written for a friend who loves in secret