No more. Well, in three days it'll be official, anyway. We are moving out. And I was feeling all sad and reluctant and nostalgic, but now I am so ready. I need to get away for a while, clear my head.
The other day, he told me that he was repulsed-- nay repelled-- wait, make that disinterested by relationships. After three months of leading me along and holding out hope, that's what I hear. Oh, sigh. Good thing nothing he can say will surprise me anymore.
And he tells me not to expect to hear from him over the summer because He Is Not Good At That. At this point, if I'm not even worth a modicum of effort, I'd rather not hear from him anyway. (That was a tough-minded, self-deluding kind of lie. Of course I want to hear from him! It's my pride that doesn't care for him.)
We got room assignments for next year. I got put in an all girls dorm. Says the BND, "Well, maybe you'll live next door to your girlfriend next year." Ha-fucking-ha.
Although, truth be told, the other team isn't looking so bad.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Greatest Hits
The end of the semester is approaching faster than you can say, "FINALS!" and everyone is stressing majorly. For me, stress is secondary to nostalgia. I always do this. I miss things in advance. I'm already viewing the halls of this busted old dorm with misty eyes. I will miss the little family that our hall evolved into. And the thing that gets me the most: leaving this residence hall means the Boy Next Door will no longer be Next Door, technically. Even living a two minute walk apart will seem like long distance compared to this. I've been revisiting old memories more than ever lately and have started compiling a sort of Sports Center highlights of our complicated, fucked-up, mostly hypothetical relationship. In no particular order...
1. Late Night Chats- There have been so, so many of these. Thinking back, my favorites were at the beginning, before I fucked things up and complicated everything. Honestly, I have never been able to talk so easily with anyone. The hours passed extremely quickly and we stayed up far too late for people with 8 a.m. classes. Oh, the good old days.
2. Haircuts- The BND has this thing about haircuts: he refuses to pay for them. He has really dark, dense, curls that get a little out of control as soon as they start to grow longer. He asked me in early fall if I would cut his hair and even though I'd never cut any one's hair in my life, I said sure. We set up a chair on the balcony outside his room and I started cutting away. I was nervous... what if I screwed up? I joked and made contemplative faces as his hair fell away. He closed his eyes and I recognized that he was getting that drunken, tingly feeling that happens when someone touches your scalp. The second time was much like the first, except for the fact that by this time I was fully aware of my feelings for him. It was an unusually warm day and the sun was streaming onto the balcony. I was more aware of how close I was to him, how he was reacting to my touch.
3. Breakfast- It was a morning after some particularly wrenching conversation that lasted into very early hours. Both of us slept too late to make it to the dining hall. I told him I was going to make eggs for brunch and offered to share. He met me in the kitchen and sat in the corner, looking emotionally shell-shocked. I chattered on, pretending that I hadn't just heard him pour his heart out hours before. He went through the motions of breakfast. Afterwords, I set about cleaning up. He took his plate to the sink and washed it, meticulously as always. I stood beside him with a pan and plate in my hand and he silently put a hand out and started to wash them, too. I touched his arm in thanks. It was such a small moment, one that he probably doesn't even remember, but to me it encapsulates the feeling that comes with being so emotionally open with someone else. It hinted to me just how much can be said without words.
4. The Incident with Two Different Shoes- The aforementioned "fucking things up". It was just one of those days, you know? A day when everything you've been feeling has been confirmed and reinforced and the stars seem to be aligning just so. And every fiber in my body was humming, saying, "Just tell him". Unfortunately, the fibers of my being forgot to leave out, "But don't tell him over aim."
Me: Still awake?
Him: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, nothing.
Me: Ok, actually not nothing. I like you. A lot.
And on I rambled, terrified that I was smashing our little glass friendship to pieces.
Him: Shit. The night before a physics test? Seriously?
Yeah, it went down like that. The little screen was telling me that he was typing, but I couldn't handle sitting in front of the screen where I confessed those words. So I put on the first two shoes my feet could find-- which happened to be one mary jane and one sneaker-- and went to his room.
"Hey, I'm really sorry," I said breathlessly, "That was stupid... I shouldn't have done that.."
He jumped down from his lofted bed, and the rest, as they say, is history.
It's one of the braver things I've done and I stand by it, even though it did not quite have the outcome I intended. I think I probably should have taken the hint when he tried to talk me out of it that night.
"I like you, too," he said, "It's just that... I'm odd."
Odd doesn't even begin to cover it, chief. But I like you still.
So here's to a first year of college that's gone by way too fast. And here's to another year of memories with or without the Boy Who Will No Longer Be Next Door.
1. Late Night Chats- There have been so, so many of these. Thinking back, my favorites were at the beginning, before I fucked things up and complicated everything. Honestly, I have never been able to talk so easily with anyone. The hours passed extremely quickly and we stayed up far too late for people with 8 a.m. classes. Oh, the good old days.
2. Haircuts- The BND has this thing about haircuts: he refuses to pay for them. He has really dark, dense, curls that get a little out of control as soon as they start to grow longer. He asked me in early fall if I would cut his hair and even though I'd never cut any one's hair in my life, I said sure. We set up a chair on the balcony outside his room and I started cutting away. I was nervous... what if I screwed up? I joked and made contemplative faces as his hair fell away. He closed his eyes and I recognized that he was getting that drunken, tingly feeling that happens when someone touches your scalp. The second time was much like the first, except for the fact that by this time I was fully aware of my feelings for him. It was an unusually warm day and the sun was streaming onto the balcony. I was more aware of how close I was to him, how he was reacting to my touch.
3. Breakfast- It was a morning after some particularly wrenching conversation that lasted into very early hours. Both of us slept too late to make it to the dining hall. I told him I was going to make eggs for brunch and offered to share. He met me in the kitchen and sat in the corner, looking emotionally shell-shocked. I chattered on, pretending that I hadn't just heard him pour his heart out hours before. He went through the motions of breakfast. Afterwords, I set about cleaning up. He took his plate to the sink and washed it, meticulously as always. I stood beside him with a pan and plate in my hand and he silently put a hand out and started to wash them, too. I touched his arm in thanks. It was such a small moment, one that he probably doesn't even remember, but to me it encapsulates the feeling that comes with being so emotionally open with someone else. It hinted to me just how much can be said without words.
4. The Incident with Two Different Shoes- The aforementioned "fucking things up". It was just one of those days, you know? A day when everything you've been feeling has been confirmed and reinforced and the stars seem to be aligning just so. And every fiber in my body was humming, saying, "Just tell him". Unfortunately, the fibers of my being forgot to leave out, "But don't tell him over aim."
Me: Still awake?
Him: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, nothing.
Me: Ok, actually not nothing. I like you. A lot.
And on I rambled, terrified that I was smashing our little glass friendship to pieces.
Him: Shit. The night before a physics test? Seriously?
Yeah, it went down like that. The little screen was telling me that he was typing, but I couldn't handle sitting in front of the screen where I confessed those words. So I put on the first two shoes my feet could find-- which happened to be one mary jane and one sneaker-- and went to his room.
"Hey, I'm really sorry," I said breathlessly, "That was stupid... I shouldn't have done that.."
He jumped down from his lofted bed, and the rest, as they say, is history.
It's one of the braver things I've done and I stand by it, even though it did not quite have the outcome I intended. I think I probably should have taken the hint when he tried to talk me out of it that night.
"I like you, too," he said, "It's just that... I'm odd."
Odd doesn't even begin to cover it, chief. But I like you still.
So here's to a first year of college that's gone by way too fast. And here's to another year of memories with or without the Boy Who Will No Longer Be Next Door.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Storms and Saturday
My weekends at Chapel Hill are usually filled by sleeping late, eating a huge brunch at Ram's, pledging to do work and failing, topped off by going to a performance, concert, movie or some such at night.
Friday, my friends K, A, and I went to Jack Sprat's to listen to a local band, The Nothing Noise. They're in the vein of The Arcade Fire, all diverse and whatnot, a seemingly loose collective. They've got a regular-looking guitarist/vocalist with a sort of scar on his lip, a female vocalist/violinist, a black guy on bass, an Andy Warhol look-a-like on trumpet, a fratish guy on glockenspiel (seriously), and a wiry, childish drummer. In short, they're kind of awesome to the college scene. So we stood and listened, amidst the sullen indie kids and the drunk Frat Pack. The door was open, blowing in cool spring night air and cigarette smoke. The music was pretty enough to make me appreciate life a little more. Someone spilled beer on my foot. It was fun.
Tonight K, C, the Boy Next Door (BND from here on out), and I went to our oldest a Capella group's spring concert. The Clef Hangers, as they are called, are an all-male group and somewhat of a sensation on campus. I think this is due in large part to the fact that Chapel Hill girls are often deprived of seeing so many males in one place. Anyway, the concert was unanimously declared awesome by our group. And really, I can't disagree. I mean... sixteen talented guys in tuxedos. Sigh.
I felt all pretty tonight, though I was showing what was probably way too much cleavage. The BND was looking pretty nice as well, in a polo as opposed to a ratty t shirt. I was feeling all chatty and lively, chriping on about the beautiful full moon and lightning. But alas, he has been very stoic and distant as of late. He is the type of person who needs to be quiet and alone to recharge. I know this about him, but sometimes I mistake this for Something Is Wrong. He subsequently gets irritated at me for thinking Something Is Wrong, and I feel bad for pestering him. By now I should know better and just leave him alone, it's just that he's been really stressed lately and I thought I'd give him the opportunity to talk about it if he needed to.
He's been quite difficult lately. He has a very sarcastic nature, which I like most of the time. But the past few days, it's been a constant barrage of cut-downs. The thing that bothers me most is when he'll say things jokingly that have a distinct note of truth to them. These things shake my confidence and since I'm already in the position of never knowing where I stand with him, it just makes me oversensitive and angsty.
We talked earlier this week about relationship things. So many long and circuitous talks. He told me that he thought the pressures of dating me would send him into a mental collapse. I thought this seemed a tad melodramatic. I mean... I'm probably not classified as "low maintenance", but I'm no Sybil. I sent him a super-long email along the lines of, "I'm awesome, you're awesome. What're we waiting for chief?"
Here's an excerpt of his response:
"I am so sorry, I really am that I cannot step up and be the person that you both think I am and want me to be. You are probably right that the pressure isn't that much and the changes wouldn't be all that earth-shattering, but I'm sorry."
That is a kind of heartbreaking thing to hear.
And since then he's been all moody and mean, with the insults and so forth. But, rest assured. The way he's feeling now has nothing to do with me. He made that very clear. Don't take it personally, he says. It's not just Laurel that he can't devote himself to now. It's also things like frisbee practice and robotics club meetings. Boy has so many issues, from self-esteem, to mom and dad, to majoring in math. My heart certainly picked a difficult one. So take comfort in the fact that at least I still take precedence over ultimate frisbee. I scoffed at that at the time, but actually, knowing how much the BND loves ultimate, it's kind of a compliment. Is it time to call this settling?
I can't quit caring about him, at least not for now. Really, I'd love it if I never had to stop caring about him. But he is making it hard on me, I'm making it hard on myself.
Monday, I told him that I feel like I've done all I can as far as this relationship goes.
"I have done all I can do, too," he said, "It's just that your 'all' is more."
It doesn't bother me that it's more, I just want it to be enough.
Friday, my friends K, A, and I went to Jack Sprat's to listen to a local band, The Nothing Noise. They're in the vein of The Arcade Fire, all diverse and whatnot, a seemingly loose collective. They've got a regular-looking guitarist/vocalist with a sort of scar on his lip, a female vocalist/violinist, a black guy on bass, an Andy Warhol look-a-like on trumpet, a fratish guy on glockenspiel (seriously), and a wiry, childish drummer. In short, they're kind of awesome to the college scene. So we stood and listened, amidst the sullen indie kids and the drunk Frat Pack. The door was open, blowing in cool spring night air and cigarette smoke. The music was pretty enough to make me appreciate life a little more. Someone spilled beer on my foot. It was fun.
Tonight K, C, the Boy Next Door (BND from here on out), and I went to our oldest a Capella group's spring concert. The Clef Hangers, as they are called, are an all-male group and somewhat of a sensation on campus. I think this is due in large part to the fact that Chapel Hill girls are often deprived of seeing so many males in one place. Anyway, the concert was unanimously declared awesome by our group. And really, I can't disagree. I mean... sixteen talented guys in tuxedos. Sigh.
I felt all pretty tonight, though I was showing what was probably way too much cleavage. The BND was looking pretty nice as well, in a polo as opposed to a ratty t shirt. I was feeling all chatty and lively, chriping on about the beautiful full moon and lightning. But alas, he has been very stoic and distant as of late. He is the type of person who needs to be quiet and alone to recharge. I know this about him, but sometimes I mistake this for Something Is Wrong. He subsequently gets irritated at me for thinking Something Is Wrong, and I feel bad for pestering him. By now I should know better and just leave him alone, it's just that he's been really stressed lately and I thought I'd give him the opportunity to talk about it if he needed to.
He's been quite difficult lately. He has a very sarcastic nature, which I like most of the time. But the past few days, it's been a constant barrage of cut-downs. The thing that bothers me most is when he'll say things jokingly that have a distinct note of truth to them. These things shake my confidence and since I'm already in the position of never knowing where I stand with him, it just makes me oversensitive and angsty.
We talked earlier this week about relationship things. So many long and circuitous talks. He told me that he thought the pressures of dating me would send him into a mental collapse. I thought this seemed a tad melodramatic. I mean... I'm probably not classified as "low maintenance", but I'm no Sybil. I sent him a super-long email along the lines of, "I'm awesome, you're awesome. What're we waiting for chief?"
Here's an excerpt of his response:
"I am so sorry, I really am that I cannot step up and be the person that you both think I am and want me to be. You are probably right that the pressure isn't that much and the changes wouldn't be all that earth-shattering, but I'm sorry."
That is a kind of heartbreaking thing to hear.
And since then he's been all moody and mean, with the insults and so forth. But, rest assured. The way he's feeling now has nothing to do with me. He made that very clear. Don't take it personally, he says. It's not just Laurel that he can't devote himself to now. It's also things like frisbee practice and robotics club meetings. Boy has so many issues, from self-esteem, to mom and dad, to majoring in math. My heart certainly picked a difficult one. So take comfort in the fact that at least I still take precedence over ultimate frisbee. I scoffed at that at the time, but actually, knowing how much the BND loves ultimate, it's kind of a compliment. Is it time to call this settling?
I can't quit caring about him, at least not for now. Really, I'd love it if I never had to stop caring about him. But he is making it hard on me, I'm making it hard on myself.
Monday, I told him that I feel like I've done all I can as far as this relationship goes.
"I have done all I can do, too," he said, "It's just that your 'all' is more."
It doesn't bother me that it's more, I just want it to be enough.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Enough
I woke up and stepped into the suite bathroom this morning. I took a look at myself in the mirror, saw my pale, make-up smudged face, my wild hair, and I told myself, "Hey. I'm enough."
Wait... where have I heard this feel-good nonsense lately?
A hallmate of mine was reading "The Rules", a guidebook for meeting and marrying Mr. Right and I curiously skimmed it the other day. The budding feminist in me bristled and ranted about it to anyone who would listen for the next hour or so. It's archaic! Women should be allowed to talk and think and be themselves and their worth should not be determined by whether or not they're married! And on I went...
And yet... here it is from "The Rules" website:
"Take care of yourself, take a bubble bath and build up your soul with positive slogans like "I am a beautiful woman. I am enough."
So there I was this morning, building up my soul with a positive slogan. I stepped into the shower, taking care of myself, and thought about everything from this past year...
... the nights when we talked for hours that dissolved into minutes, the incident with the two different shoes, the inside jokes, the birthdays, cards, emails, ims, the speaking in code, the glances exchanged at dinner, and every little moment that's meant anything...
That is what I can give. It's enough for me and it will be enough for someone, even if it isn't the boy next door.
Wait... where have I heard this feel-good nonsense lately?
A hallmate of mine was reading "The Rules", a guidebook for meeting and marrying Mr. Right and I curiously skimmed it the other day. The budding feminist in me bristled and ranted about it to anyone who would listen for the next hour or so. It's archaic! Women should be allowed to talk and think and be themselves and their worth should not be determined by whether or not they're married! And on I went...
And yet... here it is from "The Rules" website:
"Take care of yourself, take a bubble bath and build up your soul with positive slogans like "I am a beautiful woman. I am enough."
So there I was this morning, building up my soul with a positive slogan. I stepped into the shower, taking care of myself, and thought about everything from this past year...
... the nights when we talked for hours that dissolved into minutes, the incident with the two different shoes, the inside jokes, the birthdays, cards, emails, ims, the speaking in code, the glances exchanged at dinner, and every little moment that's meant anything...
That is what I can give. It's enough for me and it will be enough for someone, even if it isn't the boy next door.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Ten Weeks
Well, according to Google, ten weeks can get you a lot.
Search results yield that, in ten weeks you can:
1. Have a better marriage.
2. Lose ten pounds.
3. Make better financial investments.
4. Live in London for less than 5,000 pounds.
5. Learn U.S. Women's History (really? ten weeks is all?).
6. Have something growing inside of you that is technically termed a fetus.
Oh, yeah, also there's a metal band called Dead for Ten Weeks. Oh, the irony.
See, ten weeks ago to the day was when I chose to divulge my feelings in a spectacle that kicked off Angst-a-palooza.
And I'm sure my ten-weeks-ago-self thought I'd be in a different place by now. I was more optimistic, more excited. I thought I would tell the guy, and surely by now things would be different.
So, what Google doesn't tell you is that ten weeks can also get you:
1. no relationship
2. a heart that's anticipating hurt
3. and a feeling that's starting to resemble bitterness.
But I think I've gotten some good things, too. I've grown closer with him and learned a lot about myself and the way I deal with these situations. I've gotten some life lesson things.
Maybe twenty weeks will be different? I think I've still got a little optimism alive and kicking.
Search results yield that, in ten weeks you can:
1. Have a better marriage.
2. Lose ten pounds.
3. Make better financial investments.
4. Live in London for less than 5,000 pounds.
5. Learn U.S. Women's History (really? ten weeks is all?).
6. Have something growing inside of you that is technically termed a fetus.
Oh, yeah, also there's a metal band called Dead for Ten Weeks. Oh, the irony.
See, ten weeks ago to the day was when I chose to divulge my feelings in a spectacle that kicked off Angst-a-palooza.
And I'm sure my ten-weeks-ago-self thought I'd be in a different place by now. I was more optimistic, more excited. I thought I would tell the guy, and surely by now things would be different.
So, what Google doesn't tell you is that ten weeks can also get you:
1. no relationship
2. a heart that's anticipating hurt
3. and a feeling that's starting to resemble bitterness.
But I think I've gotten some good things, too. I've grown closer with him and learned a lot about myself and the way I deal with these situations. I've gotten some life lesson things.
Maybe twenty weeks will be different? I think I've still got a little optimism alive and kicking.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Mope and Circumstance
I got to thinking today... so often I blame other people, when the one I really want to have it out with is the face in the mirror. For example, when I get a grade below the one I think I deserve, my first instinct is to blame my shoddy TA. In all actuality, my grade can usually be attributed to the fact that I was up until 2 the night before and printed off whatever shit I managed to generate without a second look.
Here's another example: after months of listening to the guy complain about how much his ex fucked him over, I get mad at him every time he defends having dated her. Really, I'm mad at myself for caring. And I'm mad at myself for feeling hurt about a choice he made before we even met.
I can't change circumstances, I can only change how I feel about them. It stings every time I think about the fact that he made it work with her (even though she ended up making him miserable), and the fact he can't be bothered to make it work with me (even though I ostensibly make him happy).
Maybe I just have a hard time understanding other people's baggage. I mean... I barely have a carry-on, much less the full set that most people are dragging around by now. But all I know is that I can't let other people's baggage weigh me down. And I can't get mad at them because they're having trouble with the Samsonite.
So here's another resolution (that I will most likely break shortly after clicking 'publish post'): Next time I feel like lashing out at an innocent (or even not-so-innocent) bystander, I will stop (collaborate and listen!), and examine why I'm really upset with myself instead.
And after all, fights end a lot quicker when it's just me. I'm not very good at arguing.
Here's another example: after months of listening to the guy complain about how much his ex fucked him over, I get mad at him every time he defends having dated her. Really, I'm mad at myself for caring. And I'm mad at myself for feeling hurt about a choice he made before we even met.
I can't change circumstances, I can only change how I feel about them. It stings every time I think about the fact that he made it work with her (even though she ended up making him miserable), and the fact he can't be bothered to make it work with me (even though I ostensibly make him happy).
Maybe I just have a hard time understanding other people's baggage. I mean... I barely have a carry-on, much less the full set that most people are dragging around by now. But all I know is that I can't let other people's baggage weigh me down. And I can't get mad at them because they're having trouble with the Samsonite.
So here's another resolution (that I will most likely break shortly after clicking 'publish post'): Next time I feel like lashing out at an innocent (or even not-so-innocent) bystander, I will stop (collaborate and listen!), and examine why I'm really upset with myself instead.
And after all, fights end a lot quicker when it's just me. I'm not very good at arguing.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Orange Haze
Melancholy settled down in a sickly orange haze last night as our team got knocked out of the Final Four. Instead of the usual joyous call and response of, "Tar! Heels!", we stood on the balconies in silence. Everyone was busy cursing the Jayhawks and wondering what happened to Tyler, but I was upset for a different reason.
The same things I'd been turning over in my mind for days had risen to the top, and it was time to talk. I tried to collect myself and walked out onto the balcony. My semi-drunk friend passed me, and noticing my direction, grinned and said, "Make it work."
He meant make it work with the boy next door, the one who turned me into a crazy, mumbling pile of nerves. The one who likes me, but says he can't date me, at least not for now. The one I can't stop caring about, no matter how crazy it drives me.
I opened his door without knocking, as usual, and sat in his roommate's always-empty desk chair. I chattered nervously about normal business for a while, per the mutual agreement that I need to warm up before the big show.
I took a deep breath and started. And I told him that I'm sorry for the way I've acted about my feelings for the past few weeks, and that I'm sorry for trying to force him into a relationship that he doesn't think he can handle. I told him I'm sorry for expecting immediate, equal reciprocation.
"And after all, maybe it's better that we're just friends," I said with a shrug. I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, and choked back tears, "I mean, it does seem a lot easier."
"It is a whole lot easier," he agreed. His face took on a pained look as he stared at his computer screen. "I mean, man. This sucks."
We sat in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other. I was desperately trying not to break down in front of him. Again.
I started to talk again, "I'm just sorry for all the times I've acted like a jerk--"
He cut me off, "Well worth it. I don't think I could have made it through this year without you."
As he kept talking, I felt myself soften. To hear things like that from him means more than I can say. I mean, he is a man of few words. I can hold a whole conversation with him to which he contributes around 15 of 500 words.
"And anyway," he continued, "I don't see this as the end. We're still going to be in contact. Summer doesn't have to be a deadline."
Sometimes I wish he would give me a reason to stop hanging on.
Even though he doesn't see this as the end, I am trying to get used to the idea that we may never be more than friends. "Just friends" doesn't really do it justice. Good friends we are. We go in and out of each other's minds so easily. I've often said that it feels like we're on the same frequency, as we easily detect small changes in the other's mood. It's something that adds dimension to my life and I don't want to lose it.
The conversation came to a conclusion and I was satisfied. I think I had started to doubt that I meant anything to him and this assuaged those fears. We usually AIM each other as a coda to in-person conversations:
Me (1:16:13 AM): ok, well i'm going to sleep now. and i actually am feeling better. and no matter what happens, i'm glad to have you in my life. so, goodnight.
Him (1:16:39 AM): same here, i really do appreciate you more than i ever say or probably let on, thanks a lot
Not to sound like I'm drowning in self-pity here, but I hope that someday I'll feel like this with someone who wants to be with me. Too much to ask?
I went to sleep crying and woke up with tears on my face. I told my roommate my allergies were acting up. I think she knew I was lying, but she bought me Claritin anyway.
The same things I'd been turning over in my mind for days had risen to the top, and it was time to talk. I tried to collect myself and walked out onto the balcony. My semi-drunk friend passed me, and noticing my direction, grinned and said, "Make it work."
He meant make it work with the boy next door, the one who turned me into a crazy, mumbling pile of nerves. The one who likes me, but says he can't date me, at least not for now. The one I can't stop caring about, no matter how crazy it drives me.
I opened his door without knocking, as usual, and sat in his roommate's always-empty desk chair. I chattered nervously about normal business for a while, per the mutual agreement that I need to warm up before the big show.
I took a deep breath and started. And I told him that I'm sorry for the way I've acted about my feelings for the past few weeks, and that I'm sorry for trying to force him into a relationship that he doesn't think he can handle. I told him I'm sorry for expecting immediate, equal reciprocation.
"And after all, maybe it's better that we're just friends," I said with a shrug. I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, and choked back tears, "I mean, it does seem a lot easier."
"It is a whole lot easier," he agreed. His face took on a pained look as he stared at his computer screen. "I mean, man. This sucks."
We sat in silence for a moment, neither looking at the other. I was desperately trying not to break down in front of him. Again.
I started to talk again, "I'm just sorry for all the times I've acted like a jerk--"
He cut me off, "Well worth it. I don't think I could have made it through this year without you."
As he kept talking, I felt myself soften. To hear things like that from him means more than I can say. I mean, he is a man of few words. I can hold a whole conversation with him to which he contributes around 15 of 500 words.
"And anyway," he continued, "I don't see this as the end. We're still going to be in contact. Summer doesn't have to be a deadline."
Sometimes I wish he would give me a reason to stop hanging on.
Even though he doesn't see this as the end, I am trying to get used to the idea that we may never be more than friends. "Just friends" doesn't really do it justice. Good friends we are. We go in and out of each other's minds so easily. I've often said that it feels like we're on the same frequency, as we easily detect small changes in the other's mood. It's something that adds dimension to my life and I don't want to lose it.
The conversation came to a conclusion and I was satisfied. I think I had started to doubt that I meant anything to him and this assuaged those fears. We usually AIM each other as a coda to in-person conversations:
Me (1:16:13 AM): ok, well i'm going to sleep now. and i actually am feeling better. and no matter what happens, i'm glad to have you in my life. so, goodnight.
Him (1:16:39 AM): same here, i really do appreciate you more than i ever say or probably let on, thanks a lot
Not to sound like I'm drowning in self-pity here, but I hope that someday I'll feel like this with someone who wants to be with me. Too much to ask?
I went to sleep crying and woke up with tears on my face. I told my roommate my allergies were acting up. I think she knew I was lying, but she bought me Claritin anyway.
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