Of this and that. Snow covered kisses and nine second glances. Warmth and words and always, always someone stolen.
How he looked at me, how I looked away. The way we kissed, and how I thought, “I miss you. I miss you so much.” And writing this, I don’t know why, but I’m crying. And I feel so pathetic. It just feels so real I can’t seem to quit it.
Well, he’s not really a friend, but when I’m here, he’s as close to one as I can selfishly desire. We sit next to each other in the library on the third floor near the African Studies section. It started one day when I sneezed and he whispered, “bless you.” Two days later he sat down next to me and I over heard him listening to Franz Liszt Consolation No. 2. I asked him which recording he was listening to. Lang Lang he replied, but I also like Horowitz’s version. I’m trying to see which one I like better.
The next time I sat next to him we exchanged smiles and worked on our respective homework until 2 am when the library closed. I took care to pack up my belongings more slowly than him to ensure that we did not have to walk out together. I liked sitting next to him, but changing our dynamic to a friendship or a second level acquaintance was too much. Do you have a pen? he asked me on our last encounter. Yep. Thank you. His fingers grazed against mine, but did not linger. We touched for the exact socially acceptable amount of time—no more no less. In a movie this interaction would have some sort of meaning. I’d look at him, him at me, and we’d know. However, this is no movie, this is no novel, and there is no significance.
We studied next to each other for three weeks, but then I found a better study spot on the fifth floor next to a row of floor length windows. Today, after a month, I went back to my seat on the third floor, but he didn’t show up. I want to feel something similar to regret, but this is no story. Me narrating this, it’s not real. The truth is, I sat next to him a couple of times, and never thought of him again.
There’s nothing more frustrating and upsetting than seeing someone you find incredibly amazing in a thousand different ways get taken for granted by someone they adore.
A bit paranoid I know, but really that never happens.
Wanting, wishing that you don’t find anyone before I see you again.
Hey you’re a cool dude. Thanks for watching Gilmore girls with me and thank you for remembering all the music I love. And I really appreciate that you’re making an effort to read books I love, but I just want you to know that all this energy you’re putting into this, it won’t evolve. Thank you for asking me out but I can’t bring myself to feel anything. And I know you’re being nice by trying to start conversations with me but I’d really rather read my book. But saying any of that would be socially unacceptable and instead I find it easier to pretend that I’m texting someone to avoid talking to you. I’m sorry.