I Don’t Want To Be Your Second Girlfriend

This is an extremely difficult realization for me, and it needs to be written about. You might never, ever see these words. But the fact that I am laying them down tonight, as I’m laying in my bed, this is what I need. And it’s good enough. Good enough that I can wake up tomorrow and walk all of the streets that I’ve walked with (or on my way to see) you. I can live my own life in a city that breathes you and also find a way to forget about you.

I have known you now for three years. I’ve weaved myself in and out of you, constantly fighting with myself, “he’s worth it”, “he’ll leave you”, “he could fall in love with me, I mean, really fall in love with me”, and “he’s just not the one.” I’m exhausted with whatever this is being so one sided all of the time. I’d give a lot for a three sentence summary about your feelings for me.

Here’s the ultimate deal breaker: You have a girlfriend. It’s not me. I agreed to be friends with you. This was a mistake, but I couldn’t hate you if I tried. Time has healed the pain that I felt when I walked home alone that night in August, but it doesn’t do any justice. You haven’t gained my trust back. But we’re friends, right? I love talking with you, in person, as I’m sunken into your couch holding your bong and a mug of coffee. You’re across the room on a chair and dammit you still have my hands shaking. Why? The way I feel about you is constant and it makes the peach fuzz on my back shiver in the most comfortable way. All I know is that you do everything that I want my future boyfriend to do.

But again, here’s the catch that deters me from you.

I don’t want to be your second girlfriend. You don’t love me. I fill your time. I am your stoned Wednesday afternoons. I am the words you waste between reading novels. I am all of the time your girlfriend spends in lecture, the shower, doing schoolwork, out with her friends, a few states over. I am a stepping stone. And I deserve better.

Even if I was your first girlfriend, I wouldn’t be the kind to force status. Hell, I’d be one to change your Facebook to “_______” is in a relationship with French Fries, just to make you laugh. If I was your first girlfriend, I would make you promise to leave me before cheating on me. I would bring up tense topics like this over hash browns at 4:13 am because these are the kind of things that I believe keep people together. Honesty and fear and warmth and love all tied up into the kinds of scenes you see in Blue Valentine or (500) Days of Summer. If I was your girlfriend, we’d be best friends. But I’m not, and we aren’t.

Where we stand with each other right now, is tormenting. You texted me at 2 am this morning and it woke me from my sleep. I could have simply half-asleep texted you, “come here”. My room was cold but my bed was so warm. My room was respectably clean and my coffee pot was set to brew 5 cups before 9 am. You, drunk, would have showed up at my door if I asked you to. You, drunk, would have been adorably fun to take care of and tuck into my bed. You make me laugh so much.

I am not cocky, vein, or anything of the sort, but I know that I could sleep with you if I wanted. Sex, like real, imperfect, sweaty, sex, is what I physically want from you. But love, like real, under the covers, awakening, love, is what I deserve. (I just wish it was with you).

I’d be your girlfriend if you’d ask me to. But would you? If you’re too scared to try, then maybe it just isn’t meant to be. It could just be me sending horrible, horrible signals to you, and for that I am sorry. Either way, you should probably stop talking to me. You’re comfortable with your girlfriend at the moment and I’m obviously not enough. If you wanted me, you could make yourself vulnerable, dump her, and ask me out. You know I’d say yes. But something is stopping you. So please don’t drunkenly call me anymore. I will stop sending you songs that I think you’d like. I will stop looking for us in the words you write. I will accept the fact that you’re with another girl, but please help me out. Write me off, ignore me, because I’d give a lot just to hate you.

You’ve never been mine. I have no idea what to call you. “You can’t miss something you never had”?

I fucking adored you.

I was crazy about you. (I still am).

You should have opened your eyes.