Jack’s need to always be organized and responsible was the driving force that made me want to possess him. I coveted his eyes, his hands, his lips on mine, and the rest of his body. He was a constant distraction all summer. There was so little I could do to stop thinking of Jack, talking about Jack. What began as summer love quickly devolved into an ongoing obsession.
As though my mind were not my own, all that was me melted into a selfless pleasing shell. My only desire was to touch him, to amuse him in some way so he’d love me. I wanted Jack to love me most, love me best, and make me the center of his universe. I wanted his world to revolve around me. I wanted him to need me the way I did him. In a jealousy driven obsession, I lost myself in emotion thinking it was love.
The obsession with Jack concealed the fear I felt of loosing him. I wanted Jack to know the pain that was my world when he was not around. I justified my obsession with unequivocally leading questions, “Does that make him my one?” Never considering if the needs I wanted to meet for him, were needs that he was able or unable, willing or unwilling to meet for me. I sought anything to keep me from thinking about the shallow one-sided nature of our relationship. I almost made the insurmountable leap to, “He could be my one for always.” He just might have been if not for inevitable growth that happens as a young woman ages. In a way, I never thought I wasn’t right for Jack but on some level I always knew he wasn’t right for me.
