Uniform Grey

October 30, 2006 at 12:07 am | Posted in Relationships | Leave a comment

First posted January 3rd, 2006

***

 

“You don’t do what I want you to…
But I haven’t been through all you’ve been through.

And we could use that as an excuse,
If that’s what you choose…
If that’s what you choose…”
– Sarah Harmer, Uniform Grey


It’s been over a year since I first met him.

This person, this soul, who continues to haunt me. A year later, and he’s still in my soul.

Unrequited, I can’t help but think. It saves me to think that he doesn’t feel the same way that I do. To believe that it’s all one-sided, to believe that there is no hope. No time wasted between us, now or in the future. To believe there is no hope, saves me from believing that there is hope.

A year later, and I’m in the same boat. Our story began as friends, an instant connection, one that is instantly recognizable. The spark that you read about in the movies. Blue eyes gazing into mine, penetrating eyes that see into my soul, read my very thoughts. Read eachother’s thoughts. It terrified me, terrified him. And he with all his baggage (who hasn’t got baggage?), backed off. Friends only. And I respected that.

Over a year later, and nothing has changed. Our friendship has deepened. He is my best friend, my family. I think I’m happy with that, and maybe I am. Most of the time. But then, in bar bathrooms on New Year’s Eve, on drunken Saturday nights, at drunken parties, in moments of inebriated bluntness, I always spill it out. The frustration, the pain, the longing. I think it’s gone, but it’s just festering.

Others who know us both tell me he feels the same as me. That we’re both held back by our own stupidity. That I’ve given him too much space. I can’t let myself believe it.

I like being alone. I push people away, I seem to choose people to be in my life who always leave, who have baggage, who are unable to love back. I like the loneliness.

Today, I opened up one of my favourite sites, PostSecret, and a postcard jumped out at me. Someone’s secret.

 

“I will lose her if I don’t tell her how I feel.
I will lose her if I do tell her how I feel.”

I’ve stared at this postcard throughout the day. Reopened it in my browser again and again. Scrutinized the writing, hoping that it was sent by him.

This secret, could be his.

It feels like mine.

The words ate into me. I understood them entirely.

Just when I think I’m over him, that I’m satisfied with our friendship, little things like this creep in under my skin. Into my heart.

Over a year later, still nothing.

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