I think the closest I ever came to loving a girl was a young girl, whose nickname was ‘kirby.’ She was 18, at the time, and so was I. She lived in the Philippines, and I, in Massachusetts. She had plans to come study at Harvard the following year, because she had been accepted with a promising scholarship. That means she would have been a 40 minute drive from my house, rather than across the world! How exciting! I had met her through an online internet forum. Now, Kirby, was perfect for me. She was nurturing, small, and ever-so-loving. When I would talk about how much I hated myself, or how worthless I was, she would give me a list of reasons why I’m not. She would sing me to sleep, and be there for me when I woke up. She knew how to turn me on like no girl before, or since has ever been able to do. Kirby was perfect for me and claimed that I was perfect for her too. We grew so close…
But she wasn’t without her imperfections. Kirby had heart issues… I don’t remember the details, but she had under gone a number of surgeries {and had the scars to prove it.} I remember watching as her health slowly deteriorated. She was bed-ridden for a time, until she was forced to live in a hospital for, what sounded like, was going to be the rest of her life. It was like I was on a one-sided window, with her on the other, and I could do nothing but watch. Then a date came. “Doctors have given me until this day to live.” She said. God, my heart wrenched. Our future, that seemed so, so promising was going to be gone before it even began. She started to cry, and I along with her. About a month past, our contact with each other waned. Then, she came to me with news. “I have an opportunity” she said “It’s a risky 50-50 chance. If I undergo the surgery, It’ll give me at least 3 or 4 more years. But if it fails, I’ll die on the surgery table.” I felt like I should have no say in these types of things, but every fiber in me urged me to tell her to do it. The promise of our future seemed so close to becoming a reality if it succeeds… Well, Kirby’s not stupid so she made the decision—she was going to die anyways. She decided to under go the surgery.
A few days past, and I clutched my phone tighter and tighter every day, desperately waiting for a response, telling me about her successful surgery. After about, I think it was three or four days, I got the response. “It was successful” she said, “I survived.” I remember the glee I felt, the pure joy! My love was going to be coming to me in a year where we’d live happily till whenever—I didn’t care, I just wanted to see her, hold her, kiss her. After hearing the details about the surgery, I felt the urge to ask her “Well then, what’s next for us? :}”
“You can’t possibly still love me...” she replied. I was taken back.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Its been months since we’ve had serious talk between us… It hasn’t been like it used to be. You can’t possibly still love me.”
“What? Who cares?? Who cares about my feelings! All you need to know is that I still want you in my life. I want to make this—us—work!”
“No. You’ll just watch me slowly die over the years. I don’t want you to hurt like that.”
I went numb. I couldn’t believe it. She was pushing me away. After all we’d been through. All the pain, the loneliness, the waiting and the over-thinking, all for nothing. ”Good-bye.” She finally said. “It has been nothing short of wonderful, knowing and loving you. You will always have a special place in my heart, my King.” “Please say you’re lying. Stop saying all this nonsense!” No reply. “Please! Kirby. My Queen!” Then a message popped up on my screen, not from Kirby, but from the messaging phone app that we used to communicate: “This user has blocked you.”
