Last night I found myself somewhere I don’t belong- yet again. The laugh and smile were familiar, but the surroundings were not. Heck, he hardly was. I want to say that in those two hours we spent, we felt close and connected again, but I didn’t. I felt like I was talking to a friend that I just so happen to enjoy exploring sexually.

It was strange. I guess I hardly knew him to begin with, but there was an additional layer of disheartenment lying in unfamiliar surroundings with a boy I had spent months pining over- with a boy I had spent hours upon hours laughing with and listening to him talk- feeling like complete strangers. I guess I know him better than I’d ever let him get to know me, because I found him asking me the most basic of questions as if we had just met- “what do you study again?”

But I could write endlessly about you. I could tell the whole world your favorite color and your hobbies, I could go on and on about your family- where they came from, what they do, who they are- who you are…but you can’t say the same.

I find myself grappling to sort the reasons in our different levels of closeness. I know you because you offered yourself up to me, physically and perhaps even emotionally. I, too, offered myself up to you, on a silver platter with a salt ring around the rim of the plate, asking the chef to send back any emotional plates.

I remember the night you lost your mind- had me to stay to keep you company. I remember the way your skin felt on mine as your thumb traced circles on my hand. I remember the softness in your voice as you spoke- something new- each syllable’s whisper landing softly on my ear. I remember the look in your eyes as you asked me to stay “Please, just five more minutes” and I did. I remember your world opening up, and briefly extending a bridge to mine.

I remember the night not too long after that, too. we were both drunk, me more so than you. I remember my anger, my confusion: “I thought we were on the same page!” but we weren’t. I can’t remember what led up to it, but I remember you standing across the room, tasking me to tell you about myself, frustrated. “I’ll tell you anything, I’m an open book,” I said, glued to the dizziness in his bed. “So tell me something, Miss Open Book.” And I was speechless, much like I always was when it came to my turn to share. I guard my life’s details like a flame-nosed dragon, too jagged to truly let anybody in. I guess that’s how I always was with you, and maybe I was glad you had taken notice. I could never tell what games you were playing with me.

Last night, I found myself somewhere I don’t belong in the room of a near stranger, which is strange, because we had known each other for months.