“What do you remember about the first few months at school?”
“I remember a really pretty girl — you — saying hi to me even though I had no idea who you were. And the sundress — I loved it. I miss your sundresses.”
That’s really all there is. Once those months passed we were changed forever, and there’s no going back, is there? Two-and-a-half years have gone by; everything is different.
Lying in your bed, I kissed you, probably for the hundredth time that night, and that’s when it hit me: I didn’t understand anything that was happening. Ten minutes before this we had been in a heated argument. I stopped, looked at you, and I asked, “Why do we fight so much?”
“Fight? Is that what we do?”
I sat up and started collecting my clothes. I couldn’t find my pants, which seemed to be the trigger for my internal emotional breakdown. I was shaking and wanted to cry and argue and tell you that you meant too much to me, but instead I sat there, stunned, not knowing what my next move should be. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t want to hurt you. You grabbed my arm and pulled be back down to the bed. Another kiss. I couldn’t handle it.
After all we’d be through—the fights, the long and late-night talks, the years of sexual tension, everything—I couldn’t handle actually being with you. I knew you would break my heart.
We’re a messed up pair, you and me. You’re nearly 21 years old and have never been on a date. I’m a 21-year-old virgin, yet I go on dates and hook up with guys on a fairly regular basis. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, and all I want in life is to fall in love. As opposite as we are, we somehow always end up wanting one another. We’re fighting more than we’re civil and this terrifies me. Why am I so attracted to you if we’re always fighting? Maybe because it’s easy with you. You and I have a special conversational flow, even when arguing, that I have yet to have with any other person. You understand me and I understand you.
But, I could never be with you.
“I’d make a terrible boyfriend,” you tell me.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to try. But I know you’ll never want to, and I know it would never work.
“This is going to end terribly in heartbreak. For both of us,” I tell you.
“But why does the end matter if the middle is going to be beautiful?”
I want to think that you’re right, I do. But a tragic ending means losing you forever and that is one thing I know I don’t want.
Through the years you’ve been mean. Very mean, actually, and I haven’t parted ways with you because I don’t want to let go of the good memories I have with you — simply because I miss them. I miss you. We get into fights and go months without talking and then run into each other and talk as if nothing ever happened. It’s not healthy.
This is how I end up in your bed. You have a charm that only I can see. Our friends tell me I’m being self-destructive — that I’m only going to end up hurt. And some part of me knows this is true. But I miss you too much to part ways. In reality, though, how can I miss someone I barely know anymore?
I don’t miss you. I miss the guy I thought you were.
You don’t miss me. You can’t. You don’t even know who I am anymore.
Once I find my pants and gather my things you walked me to the door and kissed me goodbye.
“I’m sorry I’m so crazy sometimes. I’m just scared and don’t know what to do,” I tell you as I step through the door frame.
“We’re all a little crazy, aren’t we?”
I’ve been told that you and I should just be friends, but how do we do that after all that we’ve been through? You’re special to me in a way most people aren’t. In fact, the day I met you I knew you’d be important, I just wasn’t sure why; I still don’t know why, but I’m trying to figure it out. It’s not actually about missing you. I just have to figure out how you fit into my life; whether it’s timing or something more complicated, I know you fit in somewhere. Let’s start from the beginning.