I remember when we first met. There was something about you that stuck out, something that suggested you were important to my life. You carried yourself with so much charism, so much energy. I felt drawn to it, and I looked forward to the once a week we spent time together.
Later, we became friends. I asked you on a date, but you didn’t realize it was a date. We got dinner together, laughing and talking and smiling. I felt weightless. That summer we slowly spent more and more time together. We would stay up late eating ice cream and talking about our dreams. We would relentlessly compliment each other, reassuring each other of our adequacy. Every day, every adventure, every moment was a dream.
But the inconvenient things about dreams are that you wake up.
You had a boyfriend. We were just friends. We were just friends. But our friendship got closer. We spent almost every Friday night together, talking about life as you rambled on about Astrology and I reliably counted on you to validate me. (You always did.)
Even after you became single, we never quite clicked together. There were many times we came close, so close to becoming more than a whisper off a ghost’s lips. But the words never came out, never audibly at least.
I asked a few times why we didn’t date. You wanted commitment. You wanted the real deal. You wanted the whole package. I was scared. I wasn’t programmed to give 100% to anyone — I’m still not. I knew I had an opening, but even as you made me happy, week after week, I didn’t take it. I didn’t know how to. I wasn’t capable of it. I wouldn’t let myself fall in love, it’s like I have some kind of reflex against it. I’ve been hurt too many times — usually by myself.
My heart won’t let me do it again. My heart won’t let me try again. Maybe it never will.
So I waited and watched. I hoped to watch my heart grow strong enough, my soul grow brave enough, but instead I watched you find someone else. Someone who could give you unconditional love. Someone who could stay with you through thick-and-thin. Someone who wasn’t concerned about status, and prestige, and ego, and that bullshit. You found someone else. You found someone better.
And while sometimes things just don’t work out, I can’t escape the feeling I threw something big away.
I can’t escape the feeling that I let my fear of the unknown crowd out a big love. I can’t escape the feeling that I fucked up. I listen to you talk about your boyfriend, and my blood boils. It boils for my stupidity, my fear, and for the person who is lucky enough to spend so much time with you.
I want to be happy for you and your new relationship, but instead I’m sad for myself. I am sad that I’m never brave enough to chose love. I am sad that I am #Single4eva because of myself. I’m sad that I couldn’t chose you until you were gone.