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“You and me baby,” you whispered one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I was yours. You told me you were going to call me, but I knew that you wouldn’t. And I was right. Days, weeks, then months, and you never did. And you were all but forgotten, a fond memory I had tucked away, a bragging right with those I held dear. But then one night, I saw you again; you were back in town, downing a drink, laughing with your friends. This time I brushed by you, and found out you hadn’t forgotten me like I had thought I had forgotten you, when I saw that charming smile. We danced till our feet couldn’t take it anymore. We talked and we talked until our voices were hoarse. And later, with my wide eyes and soft lips, I persuaded you that I didn’t care about the money, the fame, or for what you could get me. You realized all I wanted was to know what was behind that smile. “You and me baby,” you whispered one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I let you into my heart. I couldn’t believe someone that radiated life as much as you did could love someone like me. What did I have? I wasn’t anything special. But you made me feel like I was. And you’d tell me I was. And you’d prove to me that I was. We’d share tender kisses and warm embraces. My heart felt like it would burst, I loved you so much. And with each passing day you made it feel that much more right that I did. You understood like nobody else. “You and me baby,” you’d whisper one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I believed in every single word. I became that bits and pieces girl in everyone’s pictures. The hair. A shoulder. A profile. A hand. I became someone else’s friend, someone’s cousin, someone’s niece, but never your girlfriend. I’d walk a step behind you. Never near you, never close enough for them to be suspicious. And I’d stand back and I’d watch you give that smile to the people that would come see you. The ones so devoted they’d drive for miles, stand for hours in front of hotels, and camp out in front of venues just for a glimpse. The ones that even though you told them that I wasn’t anyone special to you, knew that I was. The ones that mulled over how I wasn’t good enough, not pretty enough, not near anything that you should have and should want. The same ones who despite thinking that, would still go up to me and take pictures, or ask for autographs, or just be near me because being close to me meant being close to you and your smile. And sometimes they’d say cruel things. They’d say things that made me wonder if it was worth it. What had I ever done but love you? Why did I have to hide? But as soon as I thought it, the sooner it would disappear. Because when we were alone, away from the crowds that surrounded you, you’d take me in your arms and hold me oh so tight, and I’d realize all that mattered to me was you. “You and me baby,” you’d whisper one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I didn’t care about the price. I knew your career came first, and I understood. I thought I could handle it. But it was so much harder with all the pretty girls, with all the non-stop tours, the promotions that kept us apart. I knew it would be difficult, but it was worse than I thought it would be. But I sacrificed. And I dealt with having to love someone who wasn’t really there. And I learned to cope. And I learned to turn a blind eye that first time, and the second, and the third. You were only human. You had needs, and I couldn’t always be with you. What did it matter? In the end you were mine not theirs. In the end I was the one you told I love you to and meant it. “You and me baby,” you’d whisper one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I’d pretend it was alright. After a while you seemed to be working more and more. You started to forget to call. You’d tell me you were tired. You didn’t hug me as much, you didn’t kiss me as much, and we’d barely touch. I saw less and less of that smile. And one day I stopped hoping you’d give it to me. We’d argue. And you’d yell. And I’d cry. And I’d think that this was it. But then you’d come back around. You’d pick me up and spin me in circles. And we’d laugh. And for a moment I’d see that smile I fell in love with again. And I remembered how much I wanted it. And I’d forget about the pain. “You and me baby,” you’d whisper one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And then I wouldn’t hurt. Hearts break. But circles, circles you see they go on forever you’d told me when you’d given it to me. A simple gold band that held our intertwining birthstones. It had been a neon lit sign proclaiming forever, a symbol of what we had to keep hidden. But you lied. Circles didn’t break. They shattered. I couldn’t take the lies. I was tired of the empty promises. So I stopped ignoring. And I stopped pretending. And I finally walked out, only to have you come after me. Only to have you fall on your knees, wrapping your arms around my waist, and pressing your cheek to my stomach, swearing I was the only one. You swore never again. You told me you wouldn't hurt me anymore. You told me you couldn’t live without me. You told me that you didn’t want to lose me. “You and me baby,” you whispered one hand on my cheek, and one tangled in my hair. And I came back because I didn’t want to lose you either. At night I lay awake and watch you sleep, and I drift back to the first time I saw you those years ago, a drink in my hand, laughing with my friends. I think about the times before that when I didn’t know you at all. And I think about now. I see the man that can love twice as much as he hates. I see a man who can make me feel empty and whole all at once. I see someone who can make me cry and make me laugh. I see someone who brings me pain and brings me joy. I see the beauty. I hear the voice. I feel the emotions. I tangle one hand in your hair, and place one hand on your cheek and whisper, “You and me baby.” And I see your smile. |