“Oh. You’re here. You came.”
I died a little inside.
Even though I shouldn’t – because this doesn’t mean anything. Between friends, of course we’d come out to support each other on our respective events. And of course, just as normally, we’d spend the rest of the night talking to everyone but each other because we’re supposed to be networking and one is, after all, busy being part of the organizing team.
Oh. You’re here. You came.”
That small tone of surprise; as if he didn’t think I’d actually turn up – even though I clearly texted and told him I would.
I died a little inside anyway – in secret. Only in secret.
Somewhere between self-loathing and self-pity, exhausted by both, I’ve decided to simply run with these feelings.
How does one unlike a friend and rewind these feelings back to only platonic? How does one look at an old friend and not turn weak at the knees, secretly anticipating while at the same time already mentally preparing for reality check – how?
I don’t have an answer, so I’m just going to do the one thing that I’ve always done: brave through.
I’ll take them, all these feelings. I’ll just ride with them until they subside – flush out of my system, dissipate with time… whatever. They’ll go away eventually, because truth will dawn upon me that no, these feelings will not be reciprocated.
I guess this means I might sound bipolar for awhile. Some days I might give in and give up fighting – I’ll just drown in this puddle of messy emotions – and other days I might put on a braver face and with gusto, attempt to shake them off.
I had asked for love; I didn’t ask to learn about love.
Twenty-five is turning out to be my most unsettling, confusing, overwhelming, and an upheaval year – and we’re only in the third month. Come on now, N. Put up a good fight. There’s still the rest of the year to live and brave through.