Yesterday, a friend of about 2 years told me that she loved me, and that she had for a long time. Funny, how when we have the most words to say the more likely it is for us to find ourselves unable to use them, as though they clot within our chest, choke the air from our throats, make us unable to vocalize any of them. Maybe all along I just never felt like someone would ever feel that way about me, felt that someone could feel that way about me.
I guess I thought that it would happen only once in my life, that when I found the one that she would be the only one who would ever see me like that. The strange part is that this girl is wonderful and attractive and intelligent, but she just isn’t the one and my heart has no doubts of it. Then, love is not some checklist to be ticked and, when complete, accepted.
Where does love dwell? Of what is it made? What separates love from friendship? A touch of the divine. There is contained within our desire for another a wink of the holy and sacred.
Love is indeed blind but not only in the sense of being unaware to the obvious. It does not look to the outside of a person. Love laughs at the body and blushes at the spirit. The untouchable, the intangible, the unseeable is made plain before the heart enthralled by love.
There is a peculiarity in this event though. No doubt I am rarely moved at all by physical attraction — though I am still human —, but this is the first time (that I know of) that someone I find physically attractive actually was interested in me. I guess what I mean is that my lack of interest in the better sex for purely physical reasons has never truly been tested until now, and, in truth, until such a moment, such a challenge presents itself, there is always a doubt that it is just empty, self-righteous bluster. I know in my heart that such doubts are unfounded, but there is no proof. Well, there wasn’t.
What is it worth though? A girl I care about is hurting because of how deeply she cares about me. What in the hell does it matter that I am not a shallow person when she hid it for so long because she knew that I didn’t feel the same way? I feel like such a fool that I didn’t notice sooner.
How do you fix something like this? Can you? You can say all the ‘right’ things, but it doesn’t change anything, does it?
Somehow, it still seems so surreal. I’ve never been on this side of things, and I guess it was a blessing. It feels worse being the beloved rather than the lover. There is just so little you can do to try to console the other person, and that just feels terrible, especially when the other person is a friend.