Laying on his bed. In his Ma’s house in Lewisham. That’s where we realised we loved each other. It had been a couple months of spontaneous dates spanning whole days and most evenings. We talked about it often; both of us not looking for anything, instead being flung into the (very welcoming) whirlwind that this had become. Labels? They weren’t for us. Though when that stranger at your show asked if I knew anyone, I answered proudly My boyfriend’s in the play actually! I guess our union transcended labels up until the exact point that it didn’t. Though boyfriend and girlfriend felt too fickle a label for what this was and I realise that sounds cunty. I just. No one had ever made me feel this loved in my whole life.
Almost a year later and my memory of our love remains ingrained, permeating every chamber of my mind. You see, the Oscars are on the telly and every time I watch an awards show, a part of me looks out for his face. Cos above it all, we were a couple of dreamers. Every theatre, jazz bar, gallery and ikea is etched with the memory of his absent look, then an expression of pure frustration, and frankly lack of patience, at his situation. The lack of recognition that can eat a person alive, especially if that person has become wise. He saw himself as no different, at times better, than those in the Moonlight.
I wish we’d given each other the La La Land ending. I’m always gonna love you. I’m always gonna love you too. Maybe it’s too soon to say. There’s still a lifetime for you to reach the red carpet. For me to see you and smirk lovingly at our accomplishments that were once just fantasies. Well, one can dream.
