Tuesday, September 25, 2012
something is better than nothing
I need to stop loving you.
Because you are a gay man. Completely, utterly, flamboyantly, raging, out-of-the-closet gay. And I am a woman. And you will never love me the way I love you.
From the first moment I met you I knew you was gay. Our first conversation was about the guy you had brought home the night before. Not that I would have needed to hear that to guess. It’s obvious. You’ve known you were gay since you were 12, every one else has known since you were 13. You’ve never been with a girl because you were never interested in them.
I knew all this from the first week I met you.
We’ve talked a million times about you being gay. We’ve talked about how your parents don’t accept you, how much trouble you had at school, your first time and everything in between. You are just so comfortable with yourself. With everything. You have completely accepted everything about yourself.
We started off being best friends. I would come over and you would dye my hair and we would perv on the guy from Moulin Rouge. We would go shopping and you would pick out clothes for me to wear and we would hit on the shop assistants if they were cute. We would shotgun boys and pretend to be dating if someone creepy was hitting on us. We would cook each other dinner, wake each other up in the morning for class and walk each other home. We would stay over at each others places and wear just our underwear to bed in the summer and get changed in front of each other.
Things were just easy. Comfortable. Simple. I had someone I could talk to when I had a bad day, someone to have fun with, someone to be crazy with and someone to motivate me in class. And I was the same for you.
In class we acted together, playing lovers, because we were so comfortable together already it made sense.
That’s when it started. I already knew you were an attractive guy. A really attractive guy. But I just had never thought about you like that. You were you, my gay best friend. When I had to look at you through the eyes of a lover…well I guess that was the first time I really saw you. You were more than attractive. You were hot. You were gorgeous. You were handsome.
Our sex scene. Wow. Just wow. I’m still not sure if you realised I was blushing, or if you thought I was just flushed. Your hands running all over my body, your lips on my lips, your hot breath on my neck. And you being gay meant you weren’t afraid to go the distance, to make it believable, because it was make-believe. Isn’t that strange? It’s easier to fake it if you know its fake. Anyway, because we were so comfortable, because you were gay, because we were actors, whatever the reason our sex scene was… intense to say the least. Believable would be an understatement.
On opening night you invited your boyfriend to see the show. We did amazingly, two curtain calls and all. It was the best feeling. Then I watched you run out of the green room and into his arms. Running your hands over his body. Putting your lips on his lips. Your breath on his neck. And then it hit me. I was jealous. I was totally, soul-consumingly, heart-breakingly jealous. Over you and him. My gay best friend and his boyfriend.
I realised I liked you. I really liked you.
I thought it would go away. I was probably just feeling this way because of the show, all the extra practice time we had been putting in. I mean, I was pretending to love you for hours a day for weeks, it was bound to get caught up with my normal feelings eventually, right? Which meant that, after a couple of weeks, it would fade and things would be normal right? Right.
So I acted as if nothing was different, went on with the show then gave myself some space for a couple of weeks, just to be safe. Once I was sure I couldn’t have feelings for you anymore I sent you a text, asked you if you wanted to hang out. You said yes! You had missed me! That almost stopped me because I was so happy that you had missed me… but no, they were just friendship feelings, you’re my best friend of course I would be happy that you missed me. You were at home right this moment with your boyfriend would I like to come over? Yes of course I would. So I went. And there you were, smiling at me like, giving me the tightest hug, kissing me on the cheek. And there was your boyfriend, sitting on the couch. And then you went back to him, held his hand and patted the couch next to you, indicating I should sit.
I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of there. I made up some excuse, I don’t even know what it was, it can’t have been very good. But I couldn’t stay in there. Not with you holding his hand, not with you looking at him the way you do, not with you kissing him. I couldn’t do it.
I ran. I ran and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. Then I sat. And I cried and cried and cried. I got home, I’m not sure how. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything.
I was in love with someone who I have less than 0% of a chance with.
I was in love with my gay best friend.
Not just a crush, not just a physical attraction, but love. Love.
It’s been three months since then. Nothings changed. He told me last night that he thinks he is in love with his boyfriend. And I smiled and gushed over their last romantic date and told him how happy I was for him.
I’ve decided that I just have to accept that I am in love with someone that I will never have.
I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it, at making up fake guys so that he doesn’t notice that I haven’t given a guy a second look since our performance, helping him plan dates for him and his boyfriend, perving on guys that I guess are cute.
I still can’t see him with his boyfriend. That’s too hard. But I don’t think he’s noticed that whenever his boyfriend appears I disappear. He doesn’t notice a whole lot of anything else when his boyfriend is around.
He tells me about all the romantic things they do together, plays me “their song”, tells me their intimate details, asks for my opinion on what he should wear to their next date and every thing else in between.
I’m his best friend. In love with him or not. And that means I have a role to play. I have to be there for him. Whether it’s killing me or not. Because I am his best friend and I would do anything for him. Just like he would do anything for me.
I’m under no delusion that I could “turn him” or anything silly like that. I don’t want to break up his relationship, it makes him so happy. I don’t expect anything to ever happen.
But that doesn’t stop me from wishing it would. That doesn’t stop me from holding onto our hugs for a little longer, touching the spot where he kissed my cheek, reading over his texts.
Because even if I am his best friend and certain things are expected of me I still love him.
So this is my compromise. Pretending when I’m feeling low, accepting it when I’m not.
This way I can be in love with him and be his best friend.
It’s not ideal but it’s the best I can think of.
He is happy, ignorant, but happy. And that makes me happy.
He’s my best friend. I love him and he loves me. It might not be in the same way but he loves me with everything he’s got which is something. And something is better than nothing.
And at least when I’m upset I can call him and he will tell me I am amazing and beautiful and he loves me and would I like him to come over to keep me company and cuddle me all night?
…Yes I would.