It had been four years since I cried. I had forgotten what tears felt like. They’re warm. I've always loved warmth. The kind of warm feeling you get when something good happens, like when you look at me. Or laugh at my jokes. The warmth in our secrets, our whispered voices speaking a language only we know. There’s also the warm feeling I get when you offer me your jacket because I sit too close to the window in class, the heat of your skin still lingering on the soft down. My favorite has always been the heat of your words though, when we’re in private and your usual banter turns into poetry. The warmth of your emotions and innermost thoughts, your dreams and fears.
Even now, I still feel that warmth from time to time. When I hear the crooning voice of Jason Mraz, and I remember that day you told me how much you liked him. I spent the next few days learning everything I could on him, memorizing songs, noting down the ones that reminded me of you. I wanted to impress you, hoping one day you would look at me and sing me those same songs.
You were my sun. Unique and bright, you stood out among the rest. When you triumphed, I felt your joy, your shining face radiating warmth onto me as well. When you fell, I fell. I tried to cushion your fall. I took your blows, because I didn’t want cloudy days. I wanted the sun to continue shining.
It was only a matter of time before nature took it’s course and it started to rain. Now, as far as I’m concerned, the sun isn’t aware it is shining down on others. It goes on happily, never realizing that it brings such joy to people, thinking it’s just another star. That’s how you were too.
At first, I assumed you knew how much light you brought to my world. Maybe you were just being modest, but I knew you thought I was special. How could you not, with all those late night conversations, topped with sprinkled compliments and thick, syrupy topics. You told me I was worth everything, that I changed you. I felt like your earth. And maybe that was the problem. Was I limiting something that had such potential to shine? Or when it comes to love, is it balance that really counts?
Soon she came in. Her confidence was like a slap in the face. She shone like you did, but in a different way. It was as if she stole others’ light and used it to shine. Of course, like any thief, she was careful who she stole from. I know this, because you saw her the same way I saw you. She was your sun.
The change was gradual, of course. Our usually heavy conversations slowly morphed from talking about our hopes and dreams, to her. I didn’t notice at first. I thought you were just being curious, or insightful as to how this girl would turn out. I began to pray this was just your way of elongating the conversation. A seed of doubt in my mind began to spread, and I started to believe that maybe I wasn’t your earth. Maybe my sun was shining for someone else.
She began to shoot bitter glares at me. When forced to converse with her for things as mundane as homework, you were always worked into the conversation. How you had made her laugh so hard that the teacher gave you both a piercing stare, which only made you both laugh harder. How he offered you his jacket, and how it smelled of your favorite shampoo of the week. Small things, that I shouldn’t have noticed, but did.
When she talked about you, though, it wasn’t with affection. A fake grin plastered across her face hid the triumphant smirk she was trying to hold in. Her triumphs caused my falls. She was stealing my sun. You began to gravitate towards her, as I helplessly watched from the empty voids of space. You wore the same grin that I had worn all these years. One of complete and utter adoration.
I used to be convinced everything would end up fine. That I would always have your warmth, and that it was a matter of time before you noticed my loving eyes, my adoring grin, my wanting chuckle. But here I am, with tears racing down my face. It’s a game for these tears. Who can hit the open air fastest, leap off my face, the same way I was shoved into space when I was pushed out of orbit from my sun.
The warmth of these tears aren’t comforting, like my sun. They burn my skin. They’re kind of like her, taking the all warmth that is left in me and running away with it.
It doesn’t matter that I have no light, though. At least I can still try to cushion your blows. Prevent you from falling. At least you will stay shining, even if it is for her.