Prequel by Elizabeth BJ


It wasn’t love but looked just like it; and I did not know that until I was standing on the ledge about to launch myself into someone else’s arms without any fear, even though I was well aware I could crash.

I turned around for a second, just before jumping, wondering why I wasn’t scared; and saw it was us, who were crafting me wings, coming right from my back.

It wasn’t love, but it was you standing right in front of me, telling me I could be loved by a physical reflection of myself, making me wonder how much of everything I had inside to give away.

It wasn’t love, but it was you saying I could close my eyes, kissing me first, without any hope on how I was going to handle your heart afterwards.

It wasn't a bet but a choice. Just like love is the conscient choice to be willingly risking devastation hoping it won’t happen anyways.

It wasn't love, not because you were with him, the truth is, that showed me love could not be selfish, showed me it could co-exist with others and each one was just as true; but ours wasn’t, because love has to be honest too, and you caught us in lie.

It wasn't love, but it was us with our own flaws, trying to love each other and each of our bleeding wounds and scars, so it was close.

It wasn't love, but it was me giving you something no one else could; you thinking I was selfless, me thinking it was self-defense.

If I'm being honest, it wasn’t love because I never let it; because I never really let go of the rooftop, I always held on with one hand.

It wasn't love, and it did not last past time and distance, in the fashion of some truthful ones.

Now, facing daylight right in the eye, not after nighttime but after sunrise, darling, I can tell you:

It wasn’t love, but it was the beginning.



“I trashed this writing because I wrote it off a personal experience and think it is too localized in that specific situation to be relatable, and because I don't think I have found a place to live.”

Elizabeth BJ is a Mexican writer in her early twenties, she’s studying English language and literature at UNAM and has published poetry, articles on entertainment, opinion pieces and critical essays. Besides that, she sometimes posts videos. You can find links for everything at @cazandocolibris both on Instagram and Twitter.

Previous
Previous

Pigeons by DS Maolalai

Next
Next

We’re Stripped Bare, Always by Hew Davis