Why can’t we be friends as well? I’m not asking you to marry me. Or to even be my boyfriend. I’m perfectly fine with us not having any solid commitments to each other. I don’t want that at this point in my life anyways. I’m 20 and I have bigger things to worry about- myself, school, my future.
But I don’t want to just be that girl you sleep with. I don’t just want you to pop in a movie because you don’t want it to completely look like it’s just a hook-up, just a booty call. I don’t want you to only see me as a body. Some body you use on occasion to satisfy your needs after a long, hard work week. I want to hangout. Go to bars, go see a movie, go hiking, go out to eat. We have so many common interests; we talk about them all the time while we’re laying in bed.
I want you to see me as a friend. I want to be there for you. I want to share things with you, like how sometimes it makes me anxious that my parents are so much older than all of my friend’s parents, or how I’m excited about my final year of college, or how I’m so afraid of what’s to come after school.
And I want you to do the same. I want you to tell me when you’re happy, or when you’re hurt, or disappointed or frustrated. I want you to be able to feel like, even if no one else cares, you know I would. Because I do.
I respect you, R. I really do. I’m usually so fed up with people and their lies and excuses and all the petty, stupid things they do. But not you. I think about you all the time. How serious and goofy you are. How driven you are. How passionate you are. How fun you are to be around. How, no matter the odds, you will always accomplish what you set out to do, because you never let anything stop you. How solid and unshakable you are. How you make me feel beautiful and like I have nothing to worry about, if just for a few hours. How I wish I could be just a forth as good of a person as you are.
And then I think, I must be deluding myself, because here I am.
I don’t want anything from you, R. I just want your friendship. And it kills me to know that I’m not that important to you.
I should probably break it off with you, and I know that one day I will. One day I’ll get sick of doing this to myself and move on, or find someone else. Maybe actually be mature enough to know what I want or maybe even fall in love. But until then, I’ll be here. And if you ever change your mind, and you want to be friends, just know that the offer still stands.
You’re such a dear friend to me, R. How on earth did that happen?