I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t be your anything.
Because I will only be fooling myself, and I don’t want that. As long as I’m still hearing from you, as long as I still see pictures of you, as long as I still know what’s up with you, as long as I’m still up-to-date with the people you hang out with, as long as I still see you, and as long as I’m still aware of this void you have left in me: I will never get over you.
So I need to stop pretending that it’s okay, we can be friends, no harm. I need to stop justifying your late night texts, telling myself that maybe, you’re just really tired and stressed and you just really need me, you just really need a friend to talk to, and that’s fine, yes, I can be your friend, I can be–what the fuck, no. I need to stop. I can’t be your friend anymore, I can’t be your anything.
I need to stop trying so hard to be casual around you. I don’t want casual. Every time I see you, my heart skips beat, and I want you to wrap your arms around me. I want you to touch me. I want you to be my first kiss. I want to do things with you, things I have never done before. I want you, but all I can do is stare at you, stand in awe of your perfection, and be overwhelmed by your constant and familiar presence. Because I’m just your friend. So I can’t be your friend anymore, I can’t be your anything.
I need to stop listening to your music. Because every time I do, I fall all over again for you. I need to stop hoping, wishing, wondering, that maybe, just maybe, one of those songs you play could be for me. I need to stop finding comfort in the familiarity of hearing and seeing the way you strum your guitar; the way your fingers bring life to the strings; the way your music puts me to sleep every night. And when I tell you about it, all I can say is: “You’re good.” When what I meant was: “You’re perfect. You’re unreal. You’re such a great musician.” Of course I can’t say that. Because we’re just friends. So I can’t be your friend anymore, I can’t be your anything.
I need to get rid of this perfect image of you that I’ve made up in my mind. I need to start seeing your flaws. Actually, I need to stop admiring your flaws. I need to remind myself how I hate your fake laugh (oh, your crazy, adorable fake laugh). I need to remind myself how I hate the way you use a lot of shortcuts in your texts (oh, your cute, funny, and thoughtful texts). I need to remind myself how I hate the fact that you’re just so skinny (but you’re so tall and I love your broad shoulders). I hate your skinny jeans. I hate your hair. I hate your stance. I hate your awkwardness. But why can’t I hate you? I’m just your friend. I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t be your anything.
Sorry. But for my own good, for my sanity, please. I can’t be your friend anymore. I can’t be your anything.