What I Wanted Him to Do
I wanted him to hold my hand. In the halls. At the mall. Alone in my room.
I wanted him to call me every day. Late at night. Early in the morning. In the afternoon.
I wanted him to text be during classes because he missed me. Because he wanted me. Because he felt lonely without me.
I wanted him to sit next to me at our lunch table. Not across. Or diagonal.
I wanted him to kiss me. Not in my dreams. Or in the stories that I would make up in my head.
I wanted him to sing to me. Not some curly-haired kid at a Gap store. And definitely not some girl.
I wanted him to hug me. Not a one-armed hug. Not a friend-hug. Or a hope-you-feel-better hug.
I wanted him to doodle my name over all of his papers. His worksheets. His tests. His quizzes. His homework. His sheet music.
I wanted him to stare at me longingly. Not an absentminded stare. Or a just-wanted-to-get-your-attention stare.
I wanted him to love me. Not as a friend. Or a careless, 21st century love, but a real love.
I wanted him to be with me forever. And live happily ever after. And ride off into the sunset. And live in a small condo in California. Together.
I wanted him to do all of these things. And tell me that I'm the most important person in the world to him. And that I light up his day like a firefly. And that I'm the cherry on his sundae. And other cheesy lines.
But he hasn't and he won't.
He wanted to go down another path. Hold someone else's hand. Kiss someone else. Sing to someone else. Hug someone else. Love someone else.
He wanted what he wanted, and he got what he got.
I wanted him to be happy, and he is happy.
So it's okay.