The first time I saw you everything in my head went quiet. All the constant questions and thoughts suddenly hushed. Disappeared. Silenced.
Because when you have obsessive compulsive disorder you don’t really get a lot of quiet time. Even laid in bed I’m thinking. Did I lock the door? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yep. Did I shut my window? Yeah. Did I lock the door? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yep. Did I shut my window? Yeah.
But when I saw you the only thing I could think about was the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. Or the way your hair fall so messily but perfect in place. And I knew I had to talk to you. I walked past you four times before I had the courage to go and talk to you. Oh and until it felt right.
Because when things don’t feel right I just have to keep going. And I’m pretty sure I spent more time trying to think of what to say compared to fucking talking to you. But you loved it. You loved that I seemed so nervous around you.
You loved that I had to kiss you a few extra times if it didn’t feel right. If I felt like something bad would happen if I didn’t. You love that it takes me a million years to walk anywhere because there are a lot of cracks in the pavement. A lot.
And when we moved in together you said you loved that you could feel safe with me. Because I definitely checked the windows 10 times. Oh and all the doors too. Oh and I turned the lights on and off 15 times too. And when you said you loved me your eyes would crinkle up the same way they do when you laugh.
But now you have to leave because you say I’m making you late for work. And you let thoughts flash in front of my eyes for the next few hours with what I think could happen to you just because you wouldn’t give me one last kiss. And you shout at me for stopping at cracks now because you say I’m being ridiculous. And when you say you love me your eyes stay cold and staring with no crinkle in sight.
You make it seem like I’m taking up too much of your time. Like I’m being a burden which no one should ever be made to feel like. Last week you didn’t come home or text or call. You left me shaking with all the lights on wondering what had happened to you and if that missing last kiss was the reason why. You came back the next day and picked up all your stuff.
You tell me I shouldn’t have got so attached to you. And that everything to do with us was a mistake. But how can it be a mistake when I don’t feel like I need to wash my hands 6 times after I touch you.
It’s killing me that you can run away from this but I just don’t know how. I can’t go out and find someone new because you are everything I think of. Usually when I obsess over things I imagine my loved ones being in tragic accidents with me left grieving or thousands of germs crawling in under my skin. And you were the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.
I wanted to wake up every morning thinking about the way you hold on to your steering wheel. The way you fluff your hair in a particular way every time. Now I just think about who else gets to touch you. I can’t breathe because they get to kiss you that extra time. Even though they clearly don’t care if it’s perfect. Or if it feels right.
I want you back so bad that I leave the doors and windows unlocked. I leave the lights on.