So, as much as I’ve needed to write about this…for a very long time…I’ve been avoiding it…for a very long time. I’ve been infatuated with, in love with (call it what you will) a man for more than a year. We became best friends. We spent a lot of time together, growing and learning about ourselves and then about each other. Without even meaning to be we were there for each other during some really difficult points this past year. He’s the one man I felt like I could be really honest with. The one man I felt like I could really be myself around. I could be my crazy girly self. I could be my crazy controlling, intense self. I could be silly, ridiculous even, with him and he appreciated it or at least understood it.

When we first met I was attracted to him, a lot. Which is understandable considering. As I got to know him better I found him less attractive physically but that was replaced with finding him more attractive emotionally. The number of things we have in common is a little scary. We are essentially the same person. Which makes it blatantly clear that dating would not be a good idea. During the first few months we knew each other he told me that he saw me as a friend only and that he did not see it leading anywhere other than that…which hurt… a lot. Working on ourselves side-by-side, with a lot of other people who we both became close to, I was able to put the friendship first and let go of any expectations. Sure, I always hoped he would figure out how amazing I was, but I never really put a lot of faith in that. Maybe I already knew that it didn’t make sense, that it wouldn’t work out. Our friendship was wonderful. We talked on the phone, caught up in person when we had time, just generally supported each other and on some level loved each other. I gave him a lot of energy. I gave him a lot of heart space, most of my heart space for the greater portion of this last year. Which served the interesting purpose of keeping me emotionally unavailable to anyone else who might happen along.
Then he kissed me.
This was, I thought, the moment I had been waiting for. It felt good, but it didn’t feel great, which is sort of a strange thing to admit. After all this attraction and companionship the jolt wasn’t there. It didn’t feel like kissing the love of my life. Yet, I still wanted it to turn into something. I wanted the relationship of my dreams with my best friend. I wanted him to want me. But almost instantly, things got weird. I over thought it, he over thought it. Then, radio silence. Then, it was as if it had not happened. It was as if I had fabricated the whole thing in some tiny little back corner of my fantastic imagination. All of a sudden we were back to being friends without so much as a “thanks for the moment”.
I haven’t been able to relate to him ever since. I haven’t been able to be myself around him ever since. I think the thing that disturbs me so greatly is that I may be in love with someone who could not possibly be a worse fit for me. Perhaps it is that I feel like a fool, essentially loving someone who doesn’t love me in return. But, really, which is worse? Loving someone who is not at all right for me or loving someone who doesn’t love me? Perhaps it is that we are carbon copies of each other. Perhaps is that that I don’t even actually like him anymore, although a good friend told me recently that it can be very easy to love someone you don’t like. Perhaps is that I don’t understand why he could not man up and actually take me out on a date. Perhaps I understand now what he later said about that kiss, “It just happened. It wasn’t like I planned it or anything.” I’m learning on many different fronts right now that there are things in my life I may never understand. And now I understand that I have to be okay with that.
On some very basic or chemical level, something drew me to him. And on another very basic level, things between us, as anything other than friends, or maybe at all, will never work out. And now I understand I have to be okay with that.