And I never thought it was possible to think this hard about something that should be simple. You shouldn’t have to determine whether someone even likes having you around as much as you like having them around. Yet here I am, hovering over my notes with a semi-permanent crick in my neck.
Maybe it’s naivity. Wishful thinking. Or dare I say, my inner hopeless romantic– But I always feel a little more . Even if its a fraction more. Even if our casual, friends-with-benefits, no strings attached, late night “hey wanna hang out?” set up doesn’t allow it.
Because my bad, I actually like the people that I allow to see me naked–I know crazy right?– and consider them friends first. Not just a warm body to use for a few hours. But whether that feeling is reciprocated or not is the usual downfall.
I’m over here picking petals whispering:
“he sees me as more than a piece of ass”
“lol, he does not, stop lying to yourself”
And he’s probably working on his next conquest that’s available to him within a convenient radius. Probably forgetting I exist for the weeks inbetween. Which is fair because hey, this is all part of the deal, right?
“Come when I call and dissapear when I’m done”–Don’t you just love 21st century relationships?
That was sarcasm if you didn’t catch that. And no, I absolutely do not love modern relationships. Where’s the rule book for these “Bed Buddy” situations? Because I absolutely suck. And not in the good way. These situations have a funny way of keeping you tied up in them. Like a bad cell phone contract. I often find myself wanting to take back those nights and the flirting and the tension. Just to make things simple.
Where’s the undo button? Can you go back to “just friends”? Can you possibly unsee someone’s naked body? These are serious questions I’ve tossed around in my mind. Inbetween are my opposing thoughts that would rather keep up the friendship saying: “it’s all in fun, Jay. You’re friends. Live it up” or “Have fun one more time, then end it” or my favorite “You started this. And you definitely don’t want to end it”.
And yes, I’m an active participant as I’m 50% of the situation. I’m no innocent angel that was over taken and persuaded by the devil’s son. Hormones, yes. I decided to gamble with the rising tension that was building and took a risk and boy this was quite the win. Or loss.
Yet somehow I’m still in deep thought. Fist under my chin, staring at the same sentence I’ve had to re-read five times because I’m really not reading it.
My final thought always revolves around the two theories of how these things typically end. And while one ending is the more common and realistic, my Disney princess brain likes to heavily consider the fairytale ending. But yikes! Could I even see myself holding his hand? Going on dates? Riding his horse into the sunset as we go on to live in his castle happily until our dying days? Eeek. Don’t worry, I’m cringing too.
Am I expecting a happy ending? Or am I accepting reality?
Who knows. I surely don’t.