Short Stories, Written Words

21+22

He was the kind of guy I’d seen in movies. The type that hates everything, uses intelligent words and has a special bond with David Lynch. I felt fascinated and cultivated when I hung out with him.
We met on a friday. It was cold outside and I was waiting to pick up my family from the airport. They were coming to visit me on my semester abroad in Toronto. Our eyes met and I knew it right away. I would fall hard this time. I smiled, knowing he would smile back. He did. After class I waiting outside for him, wanting to introduce myself. “How did your quiz go?” Casual talk, with sex on our minds.

His name was Aidan. I was his Carrie. He picked me up after school on a Wednesday. It was our first date. My family had left and I was free as a bird. Free to explore all the perks of being a tall, blonde and beautiful Danish girl studying abroad. He told me stories of people I had never heard of, and made me feel cool. Walking next to him and his guitar made me feel powerful, inspired, accepted. The museum was crowded and so were our thoughts. I had to impress him, but words like unicorn and Taylor Swift kept popping up, proving how different we were.

Our first kiss was in High Park. We were high. I was flying, he was grounded. I couldn’t believe the beauty of his eyes, locking me in right then and there and never allowing me to forget them.

That was it. Sometimes that’s all it takes for two people to find each other. Mutual fascinations, young creative minds and a decision to be loved. He kissed me bye near the lockers. He called me and asked me to come over. He waved at my parents on skype and held me close all night long. Nothing could go wrong…

As the months passed we both changed our clothes, haircuts and interest. The dreaded date of my return drew closer. The days seemed longer as the feelings grew. I couldn’t take it.. I had to stay longer. Had to try it out, before I gave up and moved on to someone new. It had to be you.

With you I was a writer. With you I was a poet. Never before had I felt so confident and sure of myself. I could color my hair pink, blue and purple and you wouldn’t care. I could talk danish in my sleep and you still found me adorable. So I left my family behind to be with you. I gave up my entire life to be with you.

You had always been fond of weed. Had always woken up to the smell of weed and gone to sleep with it. You said you couldn’t function without, but I couldn’t quite comprehend. Then you had an audition. An audition with a drugtest. You were sure of yourself and confident you could do it.
Seeing you fall apart like that was heartbreaking. Seeing myself starting to care less was beautiful. I wanted happiness. I choose positivity. I was the sun to your dark clouds and without me you would be lost. No money, no purpose, no inspiration.
You lost a part of yourself in those days. Lost that special edge I had been so drawn to. I suddenly saw what you were really saying. Suddenly heard the words coming out of your mouth. They made no sense. They didn’t add up. You talked about adventures but locked yourself into your room. You talked about inspiration, but only got it when you were off in a different world. You talked about your heroes but refused to see them for who they really were.

It’s funny about stereotypes. We all hate them. We all like to believe, we don’t fit into a tiny box of adjectives. But we do. So very much. Especially the ones who say they “can’t be categorized”. Who says they’re “complicated” and “feel like they don’t belong in this world”. Those are the worst ones. The easiest to spot.
You fit in like a shoebox in a missing spot. You hit the type right on. Maybe that’s why I liked you. Because you reminded me of those hipster, indie movies. Because you were so far from my reality. I really did like you Aidan. I loved you. I idolized you. Maybe that’s why it was bound to happen. Bound to fall apart.

In the months after I left the country we barely talked. We had said we didn’t want to be tied down, but we were only lying to ourselves. We talked about the future and I believed your words. Believed you, when you said you’d come to Copenhagen for me.
Words have the power to break you. They have the power to lie and make someone believe you. Ideas can fall apart and that’s what we did. We were an idea, that would never turn into reality. We were an exciting story to tell our grandchildren.

I was so in love. I was so naive. I don’t regret a thing and I know you don’t either. Now we’re words in a diary, notes in a song. Poetry in our own way.

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