Anguish /n/
Just in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I am avoiding you. Somehow, my overanalyzing brain had wracked itself senseless to come up with the insane idea that “distance” will help me lessen the pain and the torture that I subconsciously self-inflict upon my own poor heart with these so-called feelings I now have towards you, but still refuse to admit.
I’m guessing you must’ve been getting pretty frustrated with me for not returning your texts when you message me, or for not bothering to chat with you online, or for not concerning myself with how you are everyday, or even for refusing to hang out. But these are things that, even though I know non-romantics like me will be reluctant to do altogether, are stuff relationships are made of. I’ve always said that relationships need effort to stay afloat. It’s because girls are just programmed that way, they have needs for pampering and special treatment. And for me to do all those things, though they pain my heart so, is just so confusing because in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not a couple. And you may not realize it yet, but I don’t want to be just your friend. And it sucks so bad that I can never be more than that to you, that you will never ever see me as anything past that. Who am I kidding? Even if you did see me with romantic potential, you still wouldn’t want to be with me. And as much as I keep telling myself that I’m content with the kind of relationship that we have, friendship can only go for so long. It has limitations of scope too, and boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, otherwise feelings start to get complicated and confusing, and emotions tend to run high and wild. I wish there was some way I could get some radioactive bug to bite me (just a little, I’m allergic to pain) and suddenly give me telepathic capabilities, because I can’t read vibes real well. Actually, make that at all. Sometimes I feel like I should make a move (you have no idea how close I’ve come to doing so), but then you make a random comment about not wanting to be in a relationship right now, or about some guy that you went out with the other night, and suddenly, all bets are off again. That’s the thing with signals, I guess. They’re often misread for something the other party means entirely differently. And since I’m the biggest torpe this world has seen in decades, I really can’t get myself to trust and rely on signals or vibes that only pose for an inadequate amount of certainty for something that could significantly affect my currently nonexistent love-life. So I wait. Still.
The way I see it, I have been patient. But how long must a guy wait for something that may never happen anyway? What does it take for you to realize that I’m right here? Time and time again I hear your endless commentaries on how there’s a guy, believe me, I know the drill. The thing that makes me wonder is how there’s always a guy. And why is that, by the way? Why must there always be another guy? I mean, you read about it novels, you watch about it in movies, you hear about it in your friends’ stories. There’s always a freakin’ schmuck. But I guess the real question I should be asking is: why can’t that guy be me? And sadly, there’s never an easy answer for that. It’s a sad reality, but it’s just what it is.
But what you fail to recognize is just how much I bleed figurative ounces and quarts of smitten blood every time you would date countless men behind my back and have the decent courtesy to rub it in my face afterwards. What pains me more is that you hardly even know you’re doing it, and I can’t put any blame on you for doing what you’re doing at all! I mean, how could I when I’m a mere nobody in your life? I don’t have any goddamn right to feel this way. Oh, wait. I am a somebody in your life. I’m a friend. That’s right, a friend; nothing more, nothing less. But given the circumstances of our relationship, I’m a bad friend who couldn’t muster any relative quantity of self-control over his emotions and plainly allowed himself to fall for the one person he knows will never ever remotely reciprocate the same feelings. I’m a bad friend who’s hysterically green with jealousy over your happiness with somebody else. And I know I shouldn’t be feeling jealous at all because again, as I futilely keep reminding myself, we’re not together. There’s no us, no we, no you and I. But so help me God, I am jealous! I’m jealous that someone is making you smile, and it’s not me. And at times when I find your arrogance and overconfidence to be just unbearable as hell, I detest that I find it so easy to find forgiveness for you right away, when I despise people who feel that they’re all that when they’re not. I loathe the fact that deep down, I can never be too angry at you for too long. And I hate that I can’t find any other reason as to why I feel this way, other than simply because… I’m in love with you. And I hate myself even more that I can’t get enough backbone to actually tell you all these pathetic factoids of my thoughts and emotions to somehow get it all over with. The silence is just eating me up inside, and I’m allowing it to do so. It’s not healthy, and it’s just got to stop soon. I can’t keep torturing myself this way. Dammit, I deserve better! I need to learn to respect myself because I, too, should get a chance at happiness. Everybody does, Dr. Phil said so himself.
So why can’t I just come out and say it you? I pondered long and hard, and the only answer that I could come up with is because I’m scared. I’m afraid to find myself heartbroken because you will never ever say yes to me. I know that everyone experiences these things at least once in their lives, but I don’t want you to give me that experience. Because even when reality dictates that “it” will never ever happen, I’d still like to think of you as my fairy tale, I want you to be my happily-ever-after. God, Love is indeed a fickle-minded son of a bitch.
One of these days, I’m going to buy a Sleepcare stuffed pug. I figure things won’t work for us no matter how long and hard I hope and wish it to anyway. So when I do decide to tell you the truth, and when you turn me down like I know you would, I’ll be ready. I’m going to give you that stuffed pug to remember me by, and also for you to understand that I know that I will never ever have another chance to give you any other gift for any or no occasion at all whatsoever since you will never ever be mine, and we will never ever have monthsaries, and Christmases, and birthdays. At least with closure as my rationale, I have a solid excuse to give you something. And why the pug, you ask? Like I said before, I’m not romantic, and I’m not into flowers since they wilt and die easily. The stuffed pug is the next most adorable thing I could think of; the way it splays its little puppy dog limbs outstretched beside its little pug head as it lays serenely on any surface, as if lulling himself to a deep slumber, the way its passive face remains so lifeless it could come to life at any moment, and the way its special Sleepcare stuffing conforms to any hug you decide to throw at him on a whim, or for when your heart gets broken again in the future and you badly need a hug with no one there to give you one. My stuffed pug will be there. Really, I think cute is an understatement for it, and it’s the most romantic thing I could come up with, so just take the goddamn thing if and when I do give it you, will you? Consider it as a parting gift, with no strings attached.
P.S.
Again, dear reader, the bringer of my agony and anguish is not you. It will never be, so stop being narcissistic and self-centered. Newsflash: the world does not revolve around you, you know.
french fries & a soda drink 