He’ll probably read this and say to himself “Wow, she’s being dramatic”. Actually...scratch that, I know he’s never going to read this. He has too many frat parties to attend. Too many girls to flirt with. Too many beers to drink. If he ever reads this I’ll be mortified...but I guess that’s the consequence of putting it on the internet, right?

The outcome of our relationship has always left me unsettled. So many scenarios replay in my head about how this could have ended and honestly, this one hurts the most. At least the first time he had the decency to tell me that he didn’t want to be friends. Sure, that hurt but it was expected. The way our conversations faded and how he avoided me in the hallways were telltale signs of a decomposing friendship. That hurt but it was nowhere near the discomfort of not knowing what he really thinks of me now and more importantly, what went wrong the second time.

The nostalgia of our past friendship was so overwhelming that I had to reach out to him. Every time my car drove past his tree-lined drive, I would think about the nights we sat up talking about the future and nebulas and what the world meant. The crisp fall air would sting my naive smile as if it was warning me not to fall for him. The casual DM that came out of my thumbs almost two years after those fateful nights was shaky and unsure, as if it were alright if the message was left on read, but that wasn’t the case. The conversation was a hesitant back and forth but we were both interested. He suggested breakfast plans for the next week. There was always a risk that too much had changed and things were better left where they were.

Unfortunately (again!), he was as comfortable as ever. That same cologne that he wore senior year hit me like a freight train as we embraced in a quick hug. The familiarity was palpable and there was no hiding that. The laughter was genuine and the sarcasm was easy even after months upon months of static between me and him. It was as if that sliver of history had reopened like an old scab. Just like that old scab, however, the healing always takes longer the second time. We laughed and filled each other in on heartbreaks, friends and our families until the coffee got cold. On the drive home we listened to the same songs we once belted. The summer air felt different than the October chill, but it was a change I was ready to welcome.

The happiness I felt to have my friend back was wonderful. I was so relieved he found it in his heart to forgive me for my past mistakes that may or may not have been the demise of part one. This was the chance to start over as friends. The past crush decided to stay hidden for a while, because that would only complicate things. They only revealed themselves after Maybe I should’ve kept my previous affections hidden since things were going great until he texted three simple words;“friends with benefits?”. Those words showed that he had a different intention in mind for the route were once again on. More importantly, it showed that he was different. Friends with benefits, as a concept, relies on causality and ease. No one can care too much or “clingy” is branded like a hot iron on a calf on the sore loser who caught feelings. Even if the content was strictly platonic, when it changes it’s always changed. It was a slippery slope, a thin tight wire that could be snapped at any moment.

The hesitation that I had to this proposal was intuition sending me warning bells before my brain could catch up with my heart. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. However, I was succumbed by the concept that I had to be cool, be down. “It’s no big deal”, he said with such confidence that I almost believed him. The ghost of my past crush agreed to this arrangement and that was the beginning of the very short part two. After a few weeks replies began to lessen with no warning until it all came to a screeching halt. Platonic plans were ignored and I felt like the black plague. I wanted to take all of it back because all things involving him felt out of my control. Every time a friend would mention his name in passing it was a reminder he was actively ignoring me. I hadn’t texted him back in weeks, knowing every unanswered blue bubble would only expose my soul further. This narrative wasn’t the idea of the resurrected friendship I had in my head. By late August the static had taken over and I had successfully lost one of my favorite friends yet again.

Maybe, just maybe, I am being dramatic. It’s not like he owed me anything anyways. Ghosting happens to the best of us. After all, we were just friends. Except, things like this usually don’t happen in friendships. Maybe it was my mistake that I thought I was more to him than I really was. He’s probably going to read this and be pissed. On the bright side, if he is then there may be a chance he’ll reply to my text.