I’ve had a crush on you for well over two years. Ever since we met, there’s been something there, even if initially it was just, “Oh hey, I’m joining this new group of friends and this guy is really cute, too bad I don’t know him better and he just started dating someone super sweet and really hot.”
And then we finally did get to be friends, and you and her broke up, but I had started dating him and he adored me, so it just kinda sat in the background – until we played lovers. And then it grew and evolved into a serious crush, an I could leave my adoring boyfriend for this guy kind of crush, which is where it has sat for at least five months now. Five months of me trying so hard to walk that line between being really good friends and pushing for something more, of getting drunk with you in the hopes that one of us will let something slip, of jealously watching how you interact with other girls and dying a little inside when one of your best friends talks casually about how much of a crush you have on a mutual friend and unknowingly lists all the reasons I will probably never quite be your type. Because I know you like me in a way. You’re lonely and I like a lot of the things you like, so I think if I were the first girl to become available you’d at least try it – but I don’t need saving.
You have said so many times how strong I am, how much you admire me, how I scare you a little and intimidate you regularly. You don’t say that about anyone else. And while I love having that distinction in our interactions, I also know what it means as far as us ever working: we won’t. Because you are the original white knight. You need someone to take care of, to fix, to shelter, to save, and I will never be that. So many of our friends are. The minute one of them is single, you will swoop in and try to pick up the pieces, and I will be sitting on the sidelines telling you I’m happy for you as I cuddle with a man who loves me unconditionally and die inside because I know I can’t bring myself to hurt him and you’ll never want me anyway.
And then I’ll leave. I already know I’m leaving, and I’ve told you when it will happen, and you’ve said you’ll miss me and joked about coming with me, but I know you won’t. You’ll stay here, or you’ll go somewhere else, because why would you follow me? And my relationship with him will probably fall apart when I go (I’m counting on it) but by then it will be too late for us because you wouldn’t give up being lonely alone just to be lonely with a girl on the other end of the phone. So – I’ll never tell you any of this. And it will always hurt. But then, what doesn’t?