But I am also turning twenty-five in six days.
Still too young to claim knowing the world – but old enough to know better.
Sometimes I laugh at this thought; if I was twenty-one, maybe I’d be braver in this pursuit of the seemingly impossible – an impossibly private and elusive boy, and an equally impossible love story stacked with painfully obvious and soul-changing boundaries. If I was twenty-one – I still recall the year we first met and I do so often, and fondly – I’d think, “What’s the worse that can happen? He rejects me? I’ll move along – laughing as I do so.” Because at twenty-one, the stakes were only as far as my eyesight could make out – not far – and ‘the worse that could happen’ was a heavily buffered version of reality.
I’m turning twenty-five in six days; the stakes now weigh heavily upon my conscience.
For every day that I am not brave, I recite the same prayer for ease and solace;
If there is no you and I – then please, dear God, let me keep you by my side as one of my closest and dearest lifetime friends.
Maybe I love you more – maybe I’ve always loved you more, even as a friend – and that’s fine with me. Because it’s the truth; I do. I love your nonchalance and frankness and extremely easygoing nature. I love how refreshingly real and authentic you feel, no matter the time, place, and day. I love that for all your seemingly suave facade – you’re actually unexpectedly ordinary. I love you most, I think, for loving – even as a mere friend – myself not in parts, but as a whole person.
You’ll make a girl very happy someday; I hope she is deserving of the unsuspectingly gentle soul that you are.