A short story.
It’s her. I can’t bare to look at her anymore, but I do it anyway. I notice everything about her. The way her wrist bangles jingle as she walks. The way her hair falls over her shoulders. I know it’s wrong. I know it can never be. But I still get that feeling. Is it sex drive? Loneliness? Love? I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. But knowing me and my limited experience, that’s not much of an accomplishment.
When she talks to me, I hear more than just words. I hear the sincerity and the kindness behind them. Her voice is silky as she speaks my name, and her laugh is as warm as the sun.
But I want something more.
At least part of me does. I try to tell myself to forget it. Believe me I’ve tried. But the thoughts don’t stop coming. When I’m home doing chores, I think of her. When I go to sleep, I think of her. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, she will pop right into my head. I know it’s an obsession, but I just can’t quiet my mind. I tell myself it’s infatuation, hormones… But it doesn’t help. I’m slave to the idea that one day we could be together.
It’ll never happen.
She doesn’t see me that way, and I just can’t let go. Even if Hell froze over and I found someone else these feelings might never go away. Perhaps it’s best to leave, just run away, put her out of my mind completely. Or then there’s the opposite approach. Risk the friendship. Tell her you like-like her. We all know that never goes down well — unless it does.
There I go again, putting false hope into my stupid little monkey brain. I am not experienced at this, at feeling this way. Though if we didn’t have these feelings there would be no procreation. The human race would die out. These feelings are meant to drive someone towards making a move, not drive them crazy with inaction.
There she goes again wearing that gorgeous dress, though of course I’d never say anything. Or compliment her on her looks. I’m such a gentleman I will avoid staring at her. But despite my pride I can’t help but take sneak peeks. I scold myself for it, but something else is controlling my eyes. I am slave.
It’s not just her looks mind you. In fact I hardly ever noticed her beauty before she started paying attention to me. I guess that’s it then. The classic fall in love with someone who pays the slightest bit of attention to you because you’re such a pathetic loser routine.
I can’t wait to see her. But then I can switch just like that. I get annoyed at her just as easily as I fall for her. When she talks about other guys and ex-lovers, it hurts. I don’t exist. I’m way down here, not up with the good looking men and potential suitors. I am just a lowly interpreter for the entire male population.
I would do anything for her, you know the old line. I would tell myself I’d be the best damn boyfriend in existence. That I would excel in leaps and bounds in my kindness, adoration, and understanding. But I know that’s not true. Relationships are hard, especially ones of the romantic variety. Not that I’d know of course. But I’ve heard enough stories to know even the good guy can fall from the grace.
Quick, she’s on her way over. I bring up my hand in a sad, hesitant wave, and quickly drop it back to my side. She motions to the footpath and together we walk down the bustling city street. Unconsciously she pushes her hair back behind her ears whilst moaning about her new boyfriend. I just grin and walk alongside her. Like a doofus.