I stood there tonight in the park surrounded by all the Christmas lights and I suddenly had a feeling of deja vu. Then I realised: almost this time last year I was standing in exactly the same spot, thinking exactly the same thoughts about you, feeling the exact tension in my back, the exact feeling of vague hope that you love me like I love you but that you are unable to express it in a way that I can fully grasp, yet the suspicion deep down that my love for you will go unconsummated, if not completely unrequited.
That was then, at the beginning. This is now, one year on. I have to accept that we will never be more than friends and move on from this almost constant low-grade anxiety, because I need to start focussing my attention on someone who does love me and is not afraid to show it. Someone who has time for me. Someone who opens the door to their life and welcomes me in rather than passing me notes through the letterbox.
I can’t let you totally consume another year of my life in this way. As from tomorrow I’m detaching myself from you emotionally. If I manage to make a clean break of it, you’ll likely barely notice. If not, you may find me a bit jagged-edged for a while. I can’t promise that I’ll continue to be as good a friend to you as I have been, and I can’t promise that if you do get around to deciding you want me that I’ll still want you. We’ll just take things as they come.