I have a lot of things I can call my own. A lot of things I feel connected to. People, places, perfumes. Yet, my home is a boy I call my best friend. I could love a hundred people, laugh with them, do everything I want to do. But it will always come down to that chubby white face, with silky black hair falling on the forehead, incessantly producing nasal whines from the slightly chapped lips of a boyishly handsome self. Everyone knows his name. He struts about wearing his ethnic Fabindia kurtas, branded jeans, gathering crowds everywhere to giggle and gossip with, to no end. He knows what you did last Christmas.
"Step one, you say we need to talk..." we sing along with 'The Fray', sitting together by the shore. Picturesque, really. Long walks, intense talks. We've done it all. He hasn't been with me too long, but he's never not going to be a part of my bustling life. Yes, he has no time sometimes, what with being cursed with extreme popularity. Yes, I get mad at the way he prioritises. Yes, he whines and broods about the smallest of things. Yes, he craves drama.
"I love you", he says. To everyone.
"I miss you", he says. To everyone.
"You're my best friend", he says. To everyone.
"Seeeeeeeemaaaa", he says. To me.
And no matter how grotesquely upset I am with him, I grin. That attention-seeking social butterfly does it to me. He understands. He knows what makes me feel better. He knows I'll be there for him at any given minute of my life, despite my detached exterior.
He squeaks like a girl and sings like Justin Beiber, trying to put out the fire on his behind. But gets away with it. He makes everyone laugh. Looks to most like he's always in need to be in the spotlight. He is. But there's a little child in him, constantly in introspection, moping away with insecurities. How can you resist loving a brat, like that?
He cries like a baby, spreads secrets, brags, yells, laughs, thinks he's the best thing that has happened to the world. He wins.. Everything, everywhere.
We defy the theory of 'When Harry Met Sally'. A boy and a girl really CAN just be friends. Some believe us, most don't, others think we're cousins. We laugh at the non-believers.
What does he do to me? He gives me things to remember and smile about. He makes me want to yank out my diplomacy and love him most. He makes me laugh. He already has my wedding planned. He gives me ego boosts. He makes me feel comfortable. He gives me new friends. He listens and participates during my drama queen phases. He makes my family believe I'm in good company. He tries to make a woman out of me. He mothers me. He needs me to mother him. He buys me food. He gave me windy bike rides. He gave me an eventful life. He gave me a six foot something gift, that defines my 'forever'.
Now he's going away. To the land where The Thames boasts just as much as he does. To the land where he'll find more things that eat up his time for me. My home is leaving home.
Where will I stay?
