Pillow Talk

"Do you still believe in love?" His eyes left mine and he shifted onto his back to stare at the ceiling. His eyebrows came together as he thought, causing a deep cavernous wrinkle of contemplation.

He took a while to answer me. I think he was trying to think of the best way to spare me. To spare the hope that was still so evidently pouring out of my voice. The hope of love.

He spared me because his answer was quite thoughtful whether he believed it or not was a different story. But you can't know what anyone is truly thinking, and trying to dissect someone's brain is a form of torture.

"I think it would work for some people. Not for me."

Hmmmm. Wasn't that a thought? That only some people get to find love. That only some people end up with that one person forever. But what I asked him was did he believe in love, and he answered in the context of some people.

Some people can be in love, but love comes in different forms. Believing in love. What does that even mean? I love my mom. My parents. My dog. Myself.

So it's possible. But the love that pulls two people together as if they had their own gravity so that they orbit each other's atmospheres for the rest of their lives in a galaxy of happiness.

That. Who is allowed to feel it? Why do some people get the privilege of it forever over others? Is it luck, circumstance, karma? Is it even real?

That is different. But why? What is love. I keep these thoughts to myself.

"So, you don't think you'll ever be in love with someone?"

He answered more quickly this time.

"Not like the last time. I'll never feel like that about someone again."

Understandable. I felt the same way about that one person in my own life. That one person who no matter how hard I try will always be entirtwined into my very being. The one person who I would have bet my life on that we were soulmates reunited in this lifetime only to find each other. That one person who I would have done anything for; who I did do anything for.

That one, but.

"But what if that wasn't love?"

Because that's what he thought love was. That toxic cycle. That feeling of needing someone more than you need air. The idea of them gone would kill you in-itself, so you stayed longer than you should have. You never thought you could love someone so deeply, and you never thought you could hurt so deeply.

You never thought you could hurt someone so deeply. But what if there is something better so I say,

"And what if there is something better. Something different. It'll never be the same, but doesn't mean it wouldn't be love."

"I mean I wouldn't even want to do that again. I would never do that with someone again."

I sigh...

"Well, me neither. That shit sucked."

We both look at each other and laugh a little. I yawn and realize how late it is. Our pillow talk running it's course, I don't say another word. Just curl up beside someone I dont know all too well yet. I lay my head on his chest because it feels nice, and let his legs wrap around mine like bony vines.

This is not the same, but it's nice. It'll never be the same, but that's okay.

I let the rythm of his breathing lull me into sleep. This damn near stranger who I am not in love with, and he is not in love with me.