This is a story of unrequited love. Of a girl who loved a boy who loved another girl. Who probably loved another boy herself. Cause isn’t that the way of the world? That aching beauty of unrequited love.
Here’s the thing, though, this girl isn’t going to get the boy in the end. That’s not her fate. She’s the one we are rooting for, though. But just so you know, she doesn’t get the boy in the end. She gets something different.
I bet you wish that sentence went more like, “She gets something better.” But really, what’s better than falling head over heels for someone completely right for you? And wrong for you? And who hurts you? And who loves you better than you’re convinced that you’ll ever get? And yet treats you like shit?
Nothing in this world is more delicious, right? It’s like biting into a succulent peach just to watch unrequited love take place. And the juice is dripping down your hands. A sticky mess. That’s a perfect way to describe what happened.
And it’s still happening. Cause that kind of love isn’t killed. It lays dormant. Waiting for the day when he wants to be more than friends.
Doesn’t that just kill you that she is going to wait for him? It kills her. In the meantime, she’s busy not caring. Sleeping around just a touch to prove to herself that the feelings are gone. And they are. For now.
But they also aren’t. Cause what if he made a move? What if he stopped loving the skinny girl with the big tits? What if he went further and actually kissed her? On the mouth? On the neck? On her back, while he ran his hands up and down her arms? What if when she said she was cold and he was keeping her warm, he did it cause he’s finally seeing her worth? What if he’s enchanted by the way her unbridled laugh sounds?
What if that look he shot her across the room, that look that just the two of them share is dessert for him too?
What if he’s finally realized not that many people are as good for him as she? What if his heart has always known and his mind is just now catching up?
It isn’t. Calm down. I told you at the very beginning of this tale that he won’t love her. He’s not going to. I promised you that. They are going to be dear friends.
Remember that word in the first or second or third paragraph? Ache. Yeah. It’s up there somewhere. That part is over now. They are solidly just friends.
Friends who play fight. Friends who sit on each others’ laps. Friends who spar verbally.
Oh, poor girl. She’s still waiting for him to come around.
We are too, reader. We are too.
If you saw them, you’d know. You’d see the fission in their eyes. It’s too cliched to seem real the first time it happens. But if you watched them for a day, or even a solid 7 minutes, you’d feel that energy so much that you yourself might get that red heat that comes with flirt-power.
Remember, reader, that it’s heartbreaking to watch. Never forget that. She’s going to end up alone. She always does. She’s smiling still.
We finally get to see her on her own. Away from him. She’s so happy. How precious. She knows how she looks. At all times. She’s conscious of it. All of it. She knows her thighs spread just a bit too much when she doesn’t hold them up off the chair at the right angle. She knows she can glance over her shoulder and it’s fairly seductive to the middle aged businessman in the coffee shop. When she turns back around, she is delighted by that attention. She loves its. She knows she’s cute when she’s sleepy. She knows what she’s doing. She’s happy. Without him.
God she’s so happy to be alive. Look at her twirling alone in the middle of the sidewalk late at night. Only we get to see this. She’s alone. No one else is looking, reader. She’s knows we are looking. But only us. We love her. She knows we love her. She’s smirking at us. Cause she’s happy. And she’s without him.
But she’s electricity with him.
This is a story of unrequited love. And how a girl got something different. A great full life of solitude. And maybe it’s better than life with him. But we have no way of knowing that.
It’s a comfortable thought: she’s better off.