I've always been better on paper than I am in person. Something to do with the anonymity, probably – it ends up that that which is written is much more significant than she who writes it. This round, I'm not sure if print is really the ideal medium. What I want to say is too important to me to be separated from me, and letting it stand on its own, letting you forget that I'm the one that's saying it... that doesn't seem like a good idea.
So even as I write this, I know I'll never show it to you. Not this version, and not its fourth revision, which is undoubtedly on its way. Maybe it's a waste of time to be writing this at all, but I guess part of me wants it down somewhere as proof that I feel something, even if my actions have never really proved it.
I always thought of you as a friend, but even more than a friend, one of those rare people that somehow, in some odd twist of events, becomes a good friend. Granted, I also always found you attractive, and I suppose that can't completely be disregarded, but you were a friend.
It took me by surprise one day as we mused over a beverage or a meal (I can't remember which) that I thought of you as more. People say those moments are unforgettable, but I fought so hard against it that the moment it popped into my head is trumped by the moment I let it stay there.
People probably don't usually fight those things, but I guess that's just one of many ways I'm completely dysfunctional because, given my history with feelings, I try not to have them. Everything changes when you let feelings become involved, and I really, really liked the way things were. But now that things are, inevitably, different, this ends one of three ways:
- I admit my feelings for you, and you reciprocate. Or, probably more likely, vice versa, because I'm horrible with admissions. And we all live happily ever after.
- I admit my feelings for you and you don't reciprocate. Which means we'll stop speaking for a bit while my wounds heal. Then maybe once I'm sure you believe I've moved on, we'll start speaking again. But things will never be what they were.
- I don't admit my feelings and gradually hanging out with you will be too painful to be worth my while. (If I were a betting woman...)
I was talking about this with a friend because hashing out feelings is something I'm not particularly good at on my own. And because I so rarely admit feelings to be real, my friends tend to take them seriously when I do. She asked me if I loved you because this particular friend was on a love kick (she had a new boyfriend, and everything in her life was hearts and unicorns). Given that my life lands more often among the fire-breathing than the prancing mythical creatures, my response was something along the lines of, "Jesus fucking Christ, that's a little premature."
I stopped after a moment, and reminded her that of course, I love you as a friend, and that part of me wants to believe I do as something more, but I know from experience that all of that either gets validated or destroyed with the first kiss. After all this, it seems, I can't really tell you anything.