Pantone 291 C
It all would be very different. I wish your existence didn’t affect me, but we exist in interdependent systems and my hypothetical longing changes within it. I think it’s impossible to experience love ever the same way twice, or anything for that matter. That makes me think about all these little loves, you know, the ones you could potentially imagine yourself with, the ones you would never tell you fancy them, because for some utterly insignificant reason, you know it could simply never happen. They might already be with someone else, completely dislike you, or simply not even know you exist. You keep your affection to yourself, and yourself only. You don’t talk about little loves. Little loves exist in a reality that is only ever-present to you.
Little loves come in various forms with many names, different qualities, contrasting personalities, and in utterly and exclusively illogical manners. You have dark, almost pitch black curly hair and woeful eyes, you are grumpy and stand too close to me on the first day we meet, but the next minute you are cheeky, blond, and with the frostiest Pantone 291 C eyes. There’s something common in you, it’s your casual inertia. There’s this thing about interactions that remain unreciprocated, that it leaves space for imaginary tête-à-tête. A place where the first uncomfortable conversations happen about our parents who tried to love us, but only managed to do it in their own ways, about your obnoxious secrets you think you can share with me as a sign of trust. You try to sum up your life in seventy-three minutes, and I simply pretend as though I don’t already know most of it.
Yet, above all else, I must avoid eye-contact, leave you on read, play it cool and dishonest, and avoid asking questions about you or your stupid little things, because I need you to feel my indifference, while I simultaneously gather every detail of you. It’s a purposeful mutual misunderstanding, because it’s socially acceptable to suffer silently for the sake of not expressing to your little loves that you desire them. Perhaps I don’t really want you after all, maybe I’m protecting myself from the depth and comfort you presumably could offer me.
Ultimately, I dismiss you exactly how I desired you: silently and efficiently.