All the Others 

Posted on March 16, 2017

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Most of the day I waited in apprehension for her response. Albeit, I wasn’t conscious for a few hours, not having slept much the night before. That helped ease some of my anxiety. I had a good feeling that I would get a response eventually, it’s just the darker side of my mind kept digging its talons into any optimism I had. 

Then she responded. Grabbing my phone, my eyes quickly located the answer I was afraid of getting: “I just want to be friends. I hope that’s ok.” 

My heart sunk. This girl was everything I wanted: a little older, beautiful, intelligent, mature, funny, friendly; these feelings of which I expressed to her. Her response was that she valued my opinion, and certainly thought I was special. But alas, friends we remain. 

I find myself in this position a lot. The friend. It seems to be all that I’m qualified for. Why? I don’t know. It could be luck, or it could be the way I carry myself. Either way, it’s been hell for me. There’s no sugar coating it. Friendships can be fulfilling and meaningful, but without someone who constantly wants your attention, and vice versa, it’s really psychologically damning. There’s an emptiness there that no amount of friendships can fill. 

And if you’re a guy, women tend not to understand this pain. A lot of them will make the broad assumption that, since you have a penis, the only real reason you wanted something more than friendship was because of sex. Because, you know, since we’re dabbling with stereotypes, men couldn’t possibly have feelings. 

But I digress. 

So I guess I’ll just be this girl’s friend, like all the others. Until I can’t be anymore. 

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