We can be friends. We really can. I think we can do it. Several things would have to happen beforehand though. I would have to accept the idea that you were the one for me, but I wasn’t the one for you. I would have to be okay with the fact that you haven’t and you won’t change your mind about me. I have to first understand that never does mean forever. I would have to be okay with the grim reality that you and I will never exist.
Being friends would be fun. I could wave hello to you as you’re walking to class. Or maybe have a brief conversation at the library about how much work we both have to do or about how one of us is in a rush because class starts in 10 minutes.
But before that happens I would have to forget about the words you’ve told me in the past. I would have to forget about the time you told me that you could see yourself falling in love with me. I would have to forget about the time you told me that I made you trip. That nobody made you feel the way I made you feel. That our connection was unbeatable, mentally and sexually. I believed these words when you told them to me, and before we can be friends I would have be a believer in their insignificance.
We can be friends, but quite a bit of time would have to pass first. Two or three years, honestly probably five years would be good enough. I think five years should be enough time to forget and move on from what could have been but never was. Maybe we can be friends after I’ve slept with enough women to make me forget your name and what it means and that our souls were ever connected.
We can be friends but I would have to learn to settle for that first. I’ve wanted you in a very particular way for quite sometime and I need to get accustomed to wanting you as a friend. I have to let go of my selfish desire of wanting to be your everything and wanting to be the person you come to when you’re anxious or afraid or when you need motivation. I have to let go of the idea of me taking you out and holding your hand and kissing you and pulling your hips closer to mine. And replace them with other ideas. Ideas that are more friendly.
Because in my heart the loss is still there. The sting is still there. The bitterness. The jealousy. The emotions. The memory of us. All of it. It’s still there and we just can’t be friends now. I wanted you. Day after day and night after night. I wanted you. But you didn’t want me and I have to teach myself to be okay with that before we can be friends.
I would have to be okay with the fact that your heart has found another home. A happier home. It’s his hand that you hold. It’s his smile that you crave. It’s his comfort that he brings you. I would have to be okay with the fact that we are going to be alive for the next 20,000 days and that for the next 20,000 days I am someone that your heart won’t look at the way it did when we were teenagers.
We can be friends. I can be in your life and you can be in mine. We don’t don’t have to treat each other like strangers. But before this happens, I just have to move on.