My text message history goes from arranging a meeting to the beautiful aftermath, a collapse of every barrier we didn’t know we’d built up between ourselves all those years.
Two years and still learning more and more each day. The last week has seen more change in me than the last two months. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a rut for years and it took a huge shock to pull me out to face the real world, where I have to be the real me.
You know what? I like the real me. Real Jimmy is calm and happy where old Jimmy was anxious and scattered, stressed and depressed. It only took a few hours with one person and my life is turning around. Fast.
A crash course, he called it. He knew my posts and rants and melodrama and emotionally invested, injected, overwhelming words were about him so he stopped reading, stopped looking, stopped checking on my progress because to him, it seemed backwards.
Right now I don’t know how I feel. I’m happy for him, I truly am. He has so much that I don’t. Envy and jealousy are okay when they don’t permute, when those burning feelings don’t metastasize to spite and a lust for revenge. There is none of that here because there is no need.
I’m pretty sure this person, this girl, thinks my posts are about her. Second-person pronouns are so unfortunate in their ambiguity. Maybe I mean that now and again. I always mean what I say when I say it to “you.” Sometimes you know who you are.
But see, here’s the problem. I can say “I love you” and she’ll think it’s about her; “I still love you,” and he’ll think it’s about him; “I want you,” and both are intrigued.
I only wish I knew what they thought. How they really feel. These people in my life - and I’m thinking about two - are so important to me for so many reasons. One because I see us progressing and know deep in my heart that we’ll be what we were, only better, because we’ve changed and are right for each other - but it takes time to “prove” that, to show off the new Jimmy, and that’s the hardest part.
Close friends are okay. For now.
The other person, well, she knows how I feel, and doesn’t feel the same way. I see us being something. Not nothing, not everything. Somewhere in between.
A beautiful gray area, that’s what we’ll be. Friends. Really close friends. Friends who can watch movies and go to parties with each other and cuddle together and talk for hours and understand feelings and share a gentle kiss or three and help each other with problems in school or in life, friends who can go on photoshoots and model and sing together and cherish each other’s company no matter what.
No more awkwardness and no more panic. No more loneliness, for her or for me. I won’t have that. We won’t have that.
We’ll be together. In my dreams, we already are. A perfect mental scenario I hope with every fibre of my being will one day be realized. I want that. I need that. Somehow, I feel you do too.
You’ll read this and likely re-think our relationship, whatever it is or will be. I don’t want commitment to you. I’m not ready to move on like that. Yet. You were right. If only there was a way to tell you how much you mean to me because of how much you’ve helped me grow. I’m not trying to change to be the person you want to date. I’m changing because you pointed out my flaws without saying a word - in fact, you rarely say anything at all. I know you mean well. You have a heart of gold and I want you to know that. I want so badly to be closer with you.
"Crush" is a silly word. Past middle school, anyway. This is more of a deep admiration, a recognition of everything you are and all you can be, and of the extent to which I’ve realized how compatible we are. As friends. I want you to be comfortable and happy. I know I don’t push too hard. Suffice it to say I want to be your best friend because I love you.
For once, Gabe was right about me. When I said he didn’t know me, I was right. It was the wrong phrasing, though. I really meant a subordinate clause that I left out - “because I don’t know me.”