You have been nothing but kind, full of initiative and understanding. Just my cup of nice, I suppose. Unconsciously, I enjoy spending my time with you. However limited, you don’t seem to ask any more. You know what not to say because you know how fast I’d run, and you’ve seen it before. The spacing of empty promises, laidback replies to set out a clear distance from you, the blurred lines clarified as clear as a-b and c. It was just like how I made it clear we could be nothing more than friends from the beginning we started this arrangement of spending time together. But suddenly, swiftly, there it was. The start of a conversation I always avoided.
It was a warm night when you decided to grab my hand. I would have preferred it if you didn’t make such a bold move, because I was never good at shooting someone down right to their face. It was a matter of respecting someone else’s pride. I choked on my words as I managed to baffle out a mid-sentence. “It isn’t-this isn’t the right time.”
“Are you still not over it?” You ask. I observed your face and noticed that unlike all the other times where you had your heart written on your sleeve, your face was filled with frustration instead. Guilt overwhelmed me. It overwhelmed me so much that I wanted to run. Leave.
I wouldn’t have cared that you had already gotten movie tickets to the show I was dying to catch all month, I wouldn’t have cared that we were three minutes away from our dinner reservations and that I was starving. I wanted to leave because anger struck me like a stick to the ground. I was angry because I had done everything in my power to control the situation. I have in no way made it any clearer of my disposition in our friendship, never overstepping boundaries in our arrangement. I could never flirt with him, it made me feel different. But I knew you needed to hear my answer. And this was it. “I am. But it isn’t the right time.”
“I don’t get you.” You answer. I’ll keep as silent as if I was on mute. You are crushed and I see disappointment splashed all over your face. We still get to our reservations; we watch the movie with long blanks of silence in between us. There are no jokes, no words of catching up but just basics of necessary communication. You say goodnight and this time you don’t smile as you turn to walk away. I don’t fight it, I don’t ask you what went wrong or to ask you to meet me ever again. That’s because I know perfectly well that as much as I have moved on, I don’t need someone new to tell others that.
In a better situation, you would have been perfect and I would have been a little more prepared. But hey, timing’s a bitch and so is vulnerability. And I’m not sure if I’m ready to give that up just yet.