When you called me your “lil sis,” I wasn’t sure what to think.
I’m not sure if I was happy because it meant that you think we’re friends or if I was crushed because it made it very clear that you don’t want to do sweaty naked things with me, but either way it was monumental. Then you left and joined ROTC and went to college on the other side of the country and you took your hotter-than-I-will-ever-be girlfriend with you.
I asked you out a few years back, and I pretended like it wasn’t a big deal when you shot me down and that it was a spur of the moment thing because hey, that’s something I would do. But I held my ground as your friend and listened to you talk about her tits and how good she is in bed and how I’m not pretty enough for him and won’t get laid until I’m 30.
And somehow, through all of that, I slowly felt myself becoming more and more addicted to our daily chats and the way you hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe and the way your jacket smelled like your cologne when you lent it to me during Project to sleep on and the way you kept trying to get me drunk but I wouldn’t let you and finally the way you rubbed my back while I laid my head in your lap because I regretted every minute I spent with that guy.
It wasn’t his fault. He was perfectly fine, I guess. But I was only with him so that I would forget about you. I’ll never admit it, not to you, not to anyone (though it seems you’re the only one who doesn’t know), but I like you. I like you more than I think I will ever like anyone else in my life, which seems a frivolous and stupid thing to say considering I’m only 17 but I don’t think you realize that you really are my everything and I would give anything to kiss you once and hold you and smell that cologne every day and have you talk to me like you thought I was someone worthwhile.
In short, I think I’m in love. It will remain unrequited, quiet, buried beneath layers of platonicism, but I will love you always.