heartbreak warfare

Lightning strikes
Inside my chest to keep me up at night
Dream of ways
To make you understand my pain

-- "Heartbreak Warfare" by John Mayer

she thinks you're gay, you know. you came up in one of our late-night conversations last semester -- the ones when we're about to doze off to sleep and we start sharing all our secrets. i didn't affirm or refute her conjecture -- after all, 1) my gaydar sucks; 2) i only know you by name and an assortment of rumors/gossip and have no right to make that sort of judgment; 3) you look no more feminine than the male k-pop stars she adores. she'd always told me that she liked "pretty boys", so when she pointed you out at the party last night, mentioning again how "gay" you look, i ignored her.

i actually think you're her type. tall. skinny. dark hair. cute smile -- the kind when your eyes smile too.

and i secretly don't agree with her. she bagged on your gray muffler, but a scarf does not a gay man make.

and if i had any doubts last semester that you don't recognize me by sight, i have had little doubt in the past three days since classes began again. it's one of those awkward situations when we know we have mutual friends but we don't quite know how to start the conversation with each other.

we made eye contact once last night. it may have been twice -- there was once where i looked up and you were crouched ahead of me on the carpet amidst the crowd of bacchanalian revelers, picking up one of the pong balls tossed astray. but there was once -- that moment where i looked up and found that we were both staring at each other -- when the lightning struck my chest and i immediately tore my eyes away.

and if that weren't enough, it was as if the lightning strike had ignited something within my chest, caused something within me to germinate and take hold as I slept last night, until i was ensnared in my own mind's castle, surrounded by a maze of hedges and thorns.

i'll tell you what happened -- i had the most vivid, most complete dream i have had in a long time. i dreamt that we were dating -- with you in your gray muffler, me in my purple one. i don't know how my brain could conjure such a detailed dream about being a relationship -- as i have been single all my life -- but those emotions were real.

astrid once told me, "all i really wanted was someone who made me feel safe, so that when the situation slashes my gut like snowden and all my brutal, ugly vulnerabilities tumble out, i experience the warm relief of release rather than the cold nakedness of shame." that's what it felt like -- with you, i was safe. whether it was your arms around my waist or your lips grazing my face, there was a warmth i had never felt in all my 19 years.

and then you dumped me. the extent of my defenselessness, dependency, and addiction unfolded before me, and i went mad. i never groveled -- i was too proud for that -- but i found myself chasing after you, begging you to give me a reason why you would do this to me. but you wouldn't turn around to face me. you gave me some vague non-answer and walked away from my life, but the damage had already been done.

you might actually be gay, though my past experiences with fashionable guy friends tells me otherwise. (just because they dress better does not automatically mean they are homosexual.) but it won't make much of a difference, because i already know this essential truth about me -- that every boy i have ever met has fallen short of the ideal that my mind has created. i am not so much enamored by you than by the image of you that my brain has spun.

the unhealthy truth is, i use you to project what i wish to see. that is why i keep getting myself caught in these traps of observing the boys i've never spoken to before. that is why ever since i saw you for the first time last spring, i can't seem to keep my eyes off of you.