A New Year's Kiss

We were watching He’s Just Not That Into You, one of those rom-coms with an ensemble cast of all the pretty little celebrities you could think of: Scarlett Johansson, Drew Barrymore, Bradley Cooper. Apparently that’s what girls are supposed to do on Saturday night - bond over sappy love movies that make them believe someone special is out there for them. I’ve never truly been a romantic. Never dreamed of being serenaded by ukulele in the halls of my high school, receiving a horde of overpriced mylar balloons and boxed chocolates on Valentine’s Day, or hearing a cliche, poorly written confession of a man’s love. Maybe I didn’t even think love was real. I had never felt it or seen it the way it’s so fervently expressed in literature, and so I had theorized that love was actually just a strong inclination that could be controlled with practice but that people often exaggerated instead because of the societal obsession with being in love.

“Hey Victoria, doesn’t your friend, what was his name? Alex, right? Doesn’t he kind of look like this guy in the movie Justin Long?”

It was one comment. One comment that came out of nowhere, pierced like a blunted blade that would do its full damage quietly over time, and change everything.

When I acted as a self-proposed love counselor in high school (funny I did that, considering I had no credibility), I gave guys one piece of advice: girls don’t really fall in love at first sight. The actual falling in love happens when they think about guys in their lives and all the interactions they’ve had. Then suddenly it all comes together and they realize that tightness in their heart means something. We had watched the movie so late that Saturday night that by the time I returned to my dorm room it was Sunday, September 15. I browsed through Justin Long’s pictures on the Internet and I couldn’t escape it anymore. Alex, Alex, Alex. He had always been there. Why didn’t I see it? Why did I pretend I didn’t see it? Why was I trying to ignore what had been happening the whole time? My personality at the time gave two answers: pride and fear. What would happen if I let a little spark burst into flames? What if I couldn’t put out the fire? We don’t even live in the same city! Victoria, are you in your right mind? What are you doing? Put down your phone!

It was risky, but I sent the text anyway. I don’t really remember what I said, but I remember thinking that since it was Alex’s birthday I owed him that much - to be brave and tell him that I kind of liked him at some points in our relationship even though I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt right that moment.

Just because I am the narrator of this story doesn’t mean that I’m always a good person. I used to be a shitty, no good heartbreaker who pretended she acted out of the superior ability to not feel when I am actually too frail and vulnerable of heart to love any way but deeply, passionately, wholly. I hurt Alex that winter, and I would later feel that hurt the following summer when we sat alone in the sub-cellar of my residence hall and he asked me why I disappeared on him. I cried and I wanted him to kiss me again, to make me feel whole. But by the time he left New York City, I still had the bittersweet taste of longing in my mouth. Since then, it’s never left.

When I think of Alex I see flashes. How he looked the happiest I had ever seen him after we kissed each other goodbye on the corner of a New York City sidewalk. How he turned off Desert Bus, the only thing he looks forward to in life, to comfort me when I was crying in his lap. I remember his legs shaking next to mine as we sat on a Madison Square Park bench in the nighttime. I remember the times he shyly and adorably asked if he could kiss me, if I would still like him if he were small, if I thought he was lickable.

Alex doesn’t really believe in God, but I do, and I know that I’ve found my own piece of Heaven in Alex’s arms. Falling in love has humbled me, and now even the little things like putting my hand in the back pocket of his flannel pajama pants or the idea of us living together in a house with plastic cups that look like glass make each day worth it. For the first time in my life, ambitious goals like winning first place in a competition or progressing toward my dream of “taking over the world” by landing another coveted internship aren’t at the forefront of my new year. In 2015 I want to love Alex the way he has always deserved to be loved - with everything I have, and perhaps with a little less jealousy.

Alex thinks I’m crazy for loving him because of some imaginary “gap” between our statures, but I think “How could I not love someone as brilliant and wonderful as Alex?”. Even though it feels weird to admit, Alex is the type of man I have always hoped would exist. Not just because I love him and he loves me, but because he is bright, gentle, attentive. When I talk to him I feel like he sees me, all of me, and like he’s listening completely, which people rarely ever do. He knows about everything you would ever want to know about, from history and good literature to funny web comics and geeky animations your friends pretend they are too cool for to watch. He only eats pizza and meat slices, but I don’t mind it too much because he’s great conversation and has a lot of interesting things to say. Even though he likes me, he never fails to challenge me and make me think twice. He may not have known how to be a boyfriend at first, but there are times the art comes so naturally to him that I almost feel as though we’re in a movie.

I live for the soft spaces between his fingertips, the musky smell of his skin, and his smug little smile that steals my heart away. In 2014 I may have traveled the world, drank gold, and bought everything my heart desired, but but I am only rich in this life because I have Alex. When we first started dating I asked him to never let me run away. I’m glad he didn’t, because if he did I would have never gotten to experience how beautiful the world can be with the one I love by my side.

Happy New Year my sun and stars. Thank you for everything.

Love,

Victoria