It's A Love Story (Prologue/?)
The song for this chapter is Love Story, Taylor Swift.
30th January 2006
I’ve always loved the phrase ‘I belong to you.’
It suggests complete love and adoration; complete faith and conviction. That’s the sort of love I’ve dreamed of, and I think I’ve found it.
I lie in his arms, on those rare nights we have together, and I feel warm, content. This is what being in love is meant to feel like, by all accounts. We’re far from conventional, and hardly anyone knows, but this is right. I can feel it in my bones, my every cell, my whole being. I never imagined this would work; when I first realised I loved him, one of my best friends, it almost destroyed my world. I felt alone, there was no one I could talk to; my life was crashing down around me. Yet, I was there, just over a month ago, my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, the strong muscle contracting in time with mine; we’re in sync. I was always told that love stories don’t happen, that romantic novels and Hollywood is a lie and, really, that’s true. If this was a love story as shown in films and books, we’d be older, the world would be a place with no hate, we’d be free to do as we pleased, complete acceptance ours.
But I wouldn’t swap this for the world.
I do feel scared, though. What if this gets out? It’d spread around school like wildfire; we’d be outcasts. We have to keep this secret. Chris knows (he doesn’t know that yet,) but I know he won’t tell anyone. A secret love tryst between two teenage boys… it’s almost romantic in its danger. A tale of forbidden love, a love that will hopefully overcome everything people throw at it. Maybe if we can keep this quiet at least until we’re both sixteen; maybe that would be okay? But if he doesn’t want to tell people then, that’s fine. We’ll talk, we’ll do this in a way that suits us both. I know he didn’t want anyone to know, but I had to tell Chris. It hurt to keep something this big and important from my very best friend; he has to understand that. He has to know how close I am to Chris. I’ve known him since year six, that’s… about five years. I know that’s not long, but it’s a third of my life. His reaction was exactly what I had hoped for, but not what I had expected, but I wrote about that at the time.
That night, though… that first night we had alone, just us… that night in December, 20th December, just before Christmas, the day after we broke up from school… it was perfect, I can’t say anything more than that. We didn’t do anything further than looking, kissing, brushing our fingers against bare skin, but that was enough. It was a small step, but we didn’t need to take a bigger leap than that. I’m grateful for what we have, and I don’t need more.
I look from the journal, my eyes clouding with tears. Everything started all those years ago. The happiness, the heartbreak, the strength of friendship… I place the book on my lap and look down at the brunette sleeping next to me, his head resting on the pillow next to the one I’m sitting on. A tear slips down my cheek and he stirs slightly, his head shifting under my feather-light hand, fingertips running through his hair. The tear falls down onto his hand, and his eyes flutter open.
‘Dom? You okay?’
The sleepy voice floats up to me, full of concern. He sits up, swaying slightly as the dizziness of sitting up quickly hits him. His arm snakes around my waist, smooth skin coming out in goosebumps as the duvet falls away from his chest, asking me what’s wrong. I indicate the journal as I lean into his embrace, my arms moving in turn to hold him. We sit together, holding each other, the journal lying open where I left it. He glances down, scanning the page.
‘Tell me the story again,’ he whispers, ‘tell me about it.’
I take a deep breath, and begin.
30th January 2006
I’ve always loved the phrase ‘I belong to you.’
It suggests complete love and adoration; complete faith and conviction. That’s the sort of love I’ve dreamed of, and I think I’ve found it.
I lie in his arms, on those rare nights we have together, and I feel warm, content. This is what being in love is meant to feel like, by all accounts. We’re far from conventional, and hardly anyone knows, but this is right. I can feel it in my bones, my every cell, my whole being. I never imagined this would work; when I first realised I loved him, one of my best friends, it almost destroyed my world. I felt alone, there was no one I could talk to; my life was crashing down around me. Yet, I was there, just over a month ago, my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat, the strong muscle contracting in time with mine; we’re in sync. I was always told that love stories don’t happen, that romantic novels and Hollywood is a lie and, really, that’s true. If this was a love story as shown in films and books, we’d be older, the world would be a place with no hate, we’d be free to do as we pleased, complete acceptance ours.
But I wouldn’t swap this for the world.
I do feel scared, though. What if this gets out? It’d spread around school like wildfire; we’d be outcasts. We have to keep this secret. Chris knows (he doesn’t know that yet,) but I know he won’t tell anyone. A secret love tryst between two teenage boys… it’s almost romantic in its danger. A tale of forbidden love, a love that will hopefully overcome everything people throw at it. Maybe if we can keep this quiet at least until we’re both sixteen; maybe that would be okay? But if he doesn’t want to tell people then, that’s fine. We’ll talk, we’ll do this in a way that suits us both. I know he didn’t want anyone to know, but I had to tell Chris. It hurt to keep something this big and important from my very best friend; he has to understand that. He has to know how close I am to Chris. I’ve known him since year six, that’s… about five years. I know that’s not long, but it’s a third of my life. His reaction was exactly what I had hoped for, but not what I had expected, but I wrote about that at the time.
That night, though… that first night we had alone, just us… that night in December, 20th December, just before Christmas, the day after we broke up from school… it was perfect, I can’t say anything more than that. We didn’t do anything further than looking, kissing, brushing our fingers against bare skin, but that was enough. It was a small step, but we didn’t need to take a bigger leap than that. I’m grateful for what we have, and I don’t need more.
I look from the journal, my eyes clouding with tears. Everything started all those years ago. The happiness, the heartbreak, the strength of friendship… I place the book on my lap and look down at the brunette sleeping next to me, his head resting on the pillow next to the one I’m sitting on. A tear slips down my cheek and he stirs slightly, his head shifting under my feather-light hand, fingertips running through his hair. The tear falls down onto his hand, and his eyes flutter open.
‘Dom? You okay?’
The sleepy voice floats up to me, full of concern. He sits up, swaying slightly as the dizziness of sitting up quickly hits him. His arm snakes around my waist, smooth skin coming out in goosebumps as the duvet falls away from his chest, asking me what’s wrong. I indicate the journal as I lean into his embrace, my arms moving in turn to hold him. We sit together, holding each other, the journal lying open where I left it. He glances down, scanning the page.
‘Tell me the story again,’ he whispers, ‘tell me about it.’
I take a deep breath, and begin.