I realize that this whole situation is terribly awkward, and I’ll be the first to say that speaking my mind is not my strong suit, especially when what I have to say is difficult. I’m generally the type of person that would rather stay quiet when I have something hard to say, instead of risking saying the wrong thing. In fact, breaking the silence and actually talking to you last week took a lot of nerve on my part. I thought perhaps I’d try writing to you instead of attempting to talk to you in person, which might be an easier way for me to get my feelings across. I don’t know about you, but I am awfully confused. Before I get started, I’d like you to know that I’m not angry with you. Frustrated? Maybe. Hurt? Probably. But I’m not angry.
In the beginning it was all so promising. We had mutual friends, interests, aspirations and most of all chemistry. Things seemed to be going just fine, until we hit our first snag - you weren’t ready for anything serious. To be honest, this wasn’t completely insurmountable in my head. You see I had myself convinced that you just needed to have “the first year experience”, but when that got old and you decided you were ready to have a real relationship, we would be able to make things work.
That was my first mistake. You see, you can’t just go around planning how other people are going to react to a situation in the unforeseeable future. That’s absolutely ridiculous. And yet it’s exactly what I proceeded to do. For months I lived my life, hoping that we would eventually work things out when you were ready. At the time, I was willing to be patient. The last thing I wanted was to have to convince you that you wanted to be in a relationship with me.
I know you know the story as well as I do, but humour me for a bit, okay? Every month or so one or both of us would get drunk, high, or both and decide that it would be a good idea to go and engage in an evening of fun. Then come morning, you’d remember that you didn’t actually like me like that, come apologize and we’d ignore each other for a few weeks. Eventually we’d resume our awkward non-friendship and pretend that nothing had happened. Repeat. You see though, we never actually got back to being friends. At least not the way we were before. I think ever since that first morning when you kicked Emily out of my room, I’ve known that I can never be “just friends” with you. No matter how hard I try to tell myself otherwise.
Then came summer, and with the help of time and space, I managed to get over my frustration at our on-again-off-again hook ups. Yet, even after all that, I still believed that someday, somehow, we’d eventually figure things out.
September arrived and we started classes again, but now we were in a permanent state of ignoring each other. I was okay with that, or so I thought. Time and space, right? Then came October, and with it came a feeling that maybe we could be friends again. Only for real this time. Actual friends. October was a wonderful month of naivety for me. It had occurred to me that maybe I had been wrong all along. Maybe we were never meant to be more than friends. Maybe all we needed was some time to get the awkwardness out of the way. So I entered into a tentative friendship with you. We did homework together, talked of innocent things and never mentioned last year or anything awkward. I was pretty sure that I was ready to leave the past in the past and start fresh. I repeated a daily mantra to myself: “We are just friends. He doesn’t like me like that, and I’m okay with that. We are just friends.” Fake it until you make it. And while it worked for a time, I was really just desperately trying to convince myself that my feelings didn’t exist, and even if they did, they were completely one sided. You will not believe how much easier it is to try and get over someone when you believe that they are completely over you.
Just when I thought that I was finally going to be successful at becoming your friend, you changed the whole game. You showed me exactly how deluded and wrong I was. It turns out that I had been telling myself a lie for over a month, because you did like me like that. I still liked you, and you liked me back. When you asked me out, it was the most wonderful and simultaneously terrible thing I’d heard in a long time. I’d been completely wrong, and I was happy about it. When you cancelled, it brought on a whole new slew of thoughts. That’s probably when the frustration started. I’m not really sure which is worse: knowing that if we get together things might end badly, or knowing that I will always regret it if we never try at all.
These days I’m literally going out of my mind. I sit in class and try to focus and all I see is you. You’re everywhere; in my head, on the board, in my notes and physically 3 seats away. It sounds cliché; you are so close, but so far away at the same time. Sometimes just thinking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t sleep. I can’t study. I can’t do anything without thinking about you. The truth is, I think that you are the first person that I’ve ever liked. Liked more than a passing crush. Someone I could actually see myself with.
I’m not really sure how we can resolve this situation at this point. If something was meant to happen it would’ve by now, right? I’ve simply been idealizing a relationship that hasn’t even happened yet – for all I know I really not missing much. At the same time, the other half of me keeps saying that I can’t actually imagine it feeling worse than all of this not knowing.
Please don’t feel any pressure to respond. I’m only writing this to clear the air. Mostly, I would just hate to wake up in 2 years and realize that totally blew it by never telling you what you meant to me.