Revised Untitled (Best Friend #2)
I have always wanted a best friend. And I thought I had found him. Nothing earth-shattering happened. I didn’t suddenly become happy or joyful or filled with glee, but at least I didn’t cry myself to sleep at night. And for that I was content, for that I was grateful. And neither one of us came out and said those words we thought we should say. And neither one of us could “define” what we had. And maybe that’s why I thought he was “the one.” I thought he was my puzzle piece. I thought we fit. Or maybe it was just the fact that SOMETHING was better than nothing, because we didn’t fit. No…we weren’t even close to fitting. But like a stubborn 4-year-old, I tried to make us fit. I thought if I could convince myself to feel things, then I’d feel them. I figured if I could trick everyone else into believing that he and I fit, then I could trick myself too. But you can only play a role for so long before you become tired of it. And I became tired. And I didn’t want to admit it. I still don’t. But he wasn’t my puzzle piece; he didn’t fit. And so, like the artist I am, I threw my feelings wall to wall and had gigantic mood swings. And I eventually pushed him away—this person I had told so many of my secrets to, this person who I thought completed me. I pushed him away and all that is left is me—right back where I started, still wanting a best friend.
Email: lambchop101@hotmail.com
