Saturday, August 27, 2016

Sometimes I Wish He Wasn't

Sometimes I wish he wasn't. Actually, sometimes I really wish he wasn't. This is completely heartbreaking to admit. It's embarrassing and shameful, but it's also really true. I just wish he wasn't.

I'm at home on a Friday writing this and he's successful, he has her and he seems happy. But he's different. I bet his family misses his old self too.

I met him when I was sixteen, around the same time that this photo was taken in my bedroom at my parents' house. Those rainboots I wore so much they garnered a hole in the side several months later. I wore them when I got into my first car accident, in that fabulous blue bug. It was rainy, it was before I knew that I needed glasses, and I was such an idiot. I wore them with my jeans tucked in. I wore them with a purple skirt and stood in a creek and took silly photos. And they make me think of him because I wore them that night on the steps too.

Why did I never jump in and take a chance with him? After so many years of wondering and daydreaming, rejecting his hints, getting wrapped up with a new boyfriend, getting married and subsequently getting divorced, I find myself doing it again. I'm wondering. But it's a little different now, because he is.

I think about that awful scary movie he made me watch. We shared Hershey kisses from a bowl and he played with my hair. Or the time that he came over with my friends and he rubbed my legs under the blankets while we suffered through Benchwarmers. This was all during a stretch that I absolutely adored him, I'd listen to Corey Crowder in the car and drive on the back roads hoping I'd pass him.

And then we became best friends. I trusted him with everything. I still do. But it's different now because our conversations are dictated by someone else. I could be bitter about it, but I also understand it completely. Well, I'm still a little bitter about it.

Even though I was attached the more than vast majority of our friendship, throughout his single times I was his number one girl. Actually, there were a couple of girlfriends that, in the midst of their breakup, tore me in two because of our relationship. Hours on the phone analyzing our futures and inside jokes, I would have given anything to have had that back this year. But we aren't 20 anymore. We aren't 18 or 23 either.

Sometimes I wish he wasn't so we could go to the batting cages. We could plan trips. We could talk about new books and he could teach me about, well, anything really because he always liked to do that.

Every once in a while he slips and will say, "I love you," at the end of a phone call. Or sometimes I'll get random texts with the same message or something similar and quick. It holds more weight now than it ever did before. It's incredibly comforting, but it also chips away at my heart because the unspoken can really never been said now. Or, to be more poetic and cliché, the unknown can never be explored.

I feel guilty for thinking it, for wishing he wasn't. I'd be his number one girl again. He'd be at my house. He'd make me watch those scary movies all over I bet and play Mario Kart while Claire danced around the living room. We'd debate and bicker because that's our go-to move and he'd tease me, because he always loved to tease me.

He waited around for me long enough. I realize that now. I also realize he put aside certain feelings for the one I chose to make me happy.  He wanted me to be happy even if it was with someone he would have steered me away from if he had the power.

None of this stops me from selfishly wishing he wasn't though.

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