HILBORN, Neil

OCD

The first time I saw her

everything in my head went quiet.

All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments.

Even in bed, I’m thinking:

Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.

But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips

or the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek—
the eyelash on her cheek.

I knew I had to talk to her.

I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.

She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.

On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating, or fucking talking to her

But she loved it.

She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday.

She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk!

When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.

I’d always watch her mouth when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked—
when she talked

when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.

At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.

She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were just passing in front of her.

But some morning, I started kissing her goodbye but then she’d just leave because I was making her late for work.

When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking

When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line

She told me I was taking up too much of her time

Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.

She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but,

How can it be a mistake when I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?

Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.

I can’t go out and find someone new

Because I always think of her.

Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.

I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars

And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.

I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel

How she turns shower knobs like she opening a safe.

How she blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out candles—
blows out—

Now, I just think about who else is kissing her.

I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once—he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!

I want her back so bad,

I leave the door unlocked –

I leave the lights on.