The One That Got Away

Once again, I'm up past 2 a.m.

Another night; another thunderstorm; another period of introspection. For some reason, I'm thinking of a certain girl from my college days, one that got away.

Well, let me rephrase that: she wouldn't leave her boyfriend for me.

Selfish, I know. Why did I think she would be willing to do it? The fact that I had feelings for her -- feelings that developed slowly, over the period of several years -- is no reason for her to dump her man and make me a replacement.

We were close -- as close as friends can be without it crossing the line. I dropped hints, made flirtatious conversation, even said "I think you're beautiful" on several occasions. She'd smile, blush, thank me for being "sweet." Still, she'd be careful to mention her boyfriend as we continued, saying how she looked forward to seeing him when he arrived in town.

For the record, I think the guy's a loser. A big, ugly, drug-using loser. In fact, I think he may even be involved in the drug trade one way or another; he certainly smokes enough marijuana to be considered an aficionado of the stuff. As the saying goes, do what you love, and if that's peddling the green stuff...

(Yes, I know it's completely hypocritical of me to criticize someone for being involved in an illegal industry, but drugs destroy lives and promote all sorts of things like human trafficking and gang violence. As far as I'm concerned, they're a far greater evil than I'll ever be.)

She's gone now, having left Florida after we graduated. We keep in touch via webcam, e-mail and Facebook messages. I miss her crystal blue eyes; twirling her silky hair between my fingers; the smell of her perfume; the way she would melt into me when I rubbed her shoulders.

It's amazing that I still think about her so often. Rebecca, in her infinite wisdom, says that anyone who would date such a loser is undeserving of my attention. Maybe she's right -- but then again, friends are often known to sugar-coat the truth in order to spare feelings.

What irks me more than anything is the fact that whenever I pine over her, I embody a cliche: that of a whore who can't find "real love".

She doesn't know what I do. I'm not sure if I'd ever tell her, because in spite of her rejection I still fear that it would take too great an emotional toll of her. She's quite a mother-hen, to the point that whenever a friend is sick, she was known to arrive with chicken soup.

Was I simply too timid in my pursuit of her? Should I have just taken her like men do in the movies, shoved her against a wall and kissed her like an astroid was about to hit the Earth and kill us all? Could she have not given me one fucking chance to prove that I'm twice the man that her boyfriend will ever be?

Whew -- I need to settle down, because if I get too worked up I'll be up until dawn. Disappointed as I am over how our relationship failed to go to the next level, I still value her friendship, and all the great memories we shared.

Christ. I'm still love-sick, aren't I?