I Blame the Phone

I can't be mad.

If I told him I couldn't talk to him everyday, what do I really expect? People move on. Some, more quickly than others... He moves damn fast. I'm just saying.

It's not that I couldn't "talk" to him everyday, though. I had the physical capability to open my mouth and carry on a conversation. I was actually always very interested in what he had to say. His ability to make me laugh is unparalleled. His insight, buried beneath a slightly cocky facade, is profound. Since college, I could tell he was making strides to better himself and improve his life. I respected that. I respect that.

But, timing is everything. And while I loved talking everyday, and hearing his voice, and laughing with him, something had to give. I mean, how long can you really talk to someone every day before residual emotions begin to evolve? I could not allow myself to slip back in - dare I say it - love. It was hard enough the first time. To fall so deeply... so hard... And to look up only to realize what you thought you were a part of was actually an intense, emotional, painful whirlwind of great conversations and brutal arguments; pure physical attraction and seething disgust; mutual admiration, quiet morning talks, inside jokes, endless texts, jealousy, envy, bickering and betrayal.

And yet, I can't let go.

After one year of apologies, arguments, rebounding and regressing, followed by one year of uninterrupted silence, we finally managed to pick up the pieces - most of them, at least - and try to be friends. It started slowly, and progressed into a comfortable stride. But, all of the talking, and texting, and e-mails just started to confuse me. Do platonic friends talk this often? I don't even talk to the bridesmaids this often... and they are the bridesmaids. I mean, if we're talking this much, and enjoying one another's company, why are we not moving beyond this point? Because I don't want to. I like things the way they are. And you don't want to. You're comfortable as well. Right? Right.

Right?

So he just stopped calling altogether. But that's not what I meant! "Not every day" doesn't mean "never". It - it just means, I need to take a step back and figure some things out! Why am I giddy when I see your name in my inbox "Mr. Platonic Friend"? And, why am I irritated when your "Miss Platonic Friend" is taking up our quality time? Who is she? How do you know her? I had to check myself: Self! Stop it. Chill out. Fall back. And go look up "platonic"...

::sighs::

So, he talks to someone else. Someone less complicated. Someone less consumed with her own thoughts, perfectly able to live in the moment. Someone without endless questions. Someone who doesn't share our messy history. It's fine. It's fine.

And, I can't be mad.