Dear Mr. First Move
In my dream last night I actually made a move on you. I don’t remember what we were doing but you were leaning in so close to me I could feel your breath on my cheek. Our mouths were moments apart while time stood still. I thought that was your attempt at a hoped-for kiss, so I found the courage to show you mine. I leaned in to fill the remaining void falling between our lips, and kissed you. I actually kissed you. I made the final move. I turned that space into intimacy. It lasted only an instant, and then, you pulled away and scurried off somewhere. I don’t quite remember how I found out, but somehow it got back to me that you weren’t making a pass. The lack of space between our lips was not meant for a kiss. You did not feel the intense attraction I had, pulling me in. It was all just a mistake…my mistake. I was rejected. I woke up shortly after this tragedy. The shame and sorrow felt so real. For a moment, I actually thought it all happened. The realization that you’re currently thousands of miles away from me offered a sigh of relief.
And this is why I will never, ever, make the first move. I am conditioned for rejection. It’s pretty much all I’ve ever known. Even my dreams support my dismissal. I don’t think I could bear those feelings of shame and inferiority in my waking life. I can’t risk our friendship for rejection, even if there is the possibility of reciprocated affection. It’s just too scary. So I will just continue to mirror your moves in my hoped-for-more-than-friendship, never moving an inch past the line you draw. Never taking things any further than you do. Because I know that if one day you throw some sort pass my way, I’ll be there to catch it and toss the same exact one back. But I’ll never throw the first pitch…that’s left up to you. You’re going to have to be the brave one this time.