I’ve never really known what love is, personally. At least I don’t think so. Nonetheless I have some first-hand experience with a distant relative, the friend zone. The unexpected, unwanted third cousin from Ohio who (I mean no disrespect to any Ohioans, it was the first state that came to mind) your mother springs upon you to hang out with for the summer. She doesn’t, oh no she does not warn you, knowingly that you’ll object. There is no avoiding the outcome; you are now stuck with that undesired, despicable growth that is leashed to you.

Unlike your cousin who would be leaving as summer came to a close, your stay in the friend zone is ruthlessly perpetual. Don’t worry bro, your stay at the ‘Comfort Inn’ has been prearranged by your lack luster of boldness. The girl who you knowingly became close to in the light of day, yeah, with each unsexual favor she asked of you such as “Can you hold my umbrella?” with your delighted hasty response fortifying her ideology that you’re unthreatening to her in any sexual realm. But hey, at least you’ve become closer to her as a friend, right? At least she’s giving you time to be with her, right?

I’ve never really known how I’ve gotten myself in the personally inhibited shutdown 3-2 zone. Maybe it’s me, but I’ve yet to notice the early onset stages. If I was asked to predict where the underlying cause lies it would be somewhere between the incessant use of blushy face emojis, and the year it took to state that you don’t want to be limited to being a best friend. The eye candy you once has become a 2 a.m. “You up?” text. One day she’s sitting in her bed dressed in a daunting belly shirt that’s saying “C’mon you know you wanna take me off, be bold, use those appendages of yours.” Then, suddenly, days later she invites you to her room and that belly shirt has transitioned into Cheeto stained sweats saying “It’s too late now you pathetic bastard.” as she calls you over with a best friend patting of the bed to show you a photo album of her cats. Moments after idolizing a seemingly endless amount of cat photos you’re comfortably seated at the foot of her bed giving her a foot rub (the closest you’ll ever get to foreplay). Now that you’ve established, bolded and copyrighted your generosity and selflessness, you may as well buy ‘Mean Girls’ on TiVo because you’re going to be expected to spend some Friday nights in while sharing a quart of lo mein. As she gets up to ask for your opinion on a selection of sundresses, the guy you wish you were has been granted a night out with his buds by the girl you’ve been comfortably chasing for the last year.

As a semi-experienced chaser, I’ve had time to theorize this personally inhibiting zone. You don’t like being rejected, so you do what’s comfortable. Remember that 2 a.m. text she sent you last Friday? If you want any possibility of being that guy who just left her room, don’t answer her dude, don’t do it. Do the discomforting thing and close your phone. Let her ponder. I know I wish I’d have. Allow her the time to think “Is he going to answer?”, “I wonder if he’s up?”. Now can’t say from experience that that’ll work, but as a fellow philly fan trust the process.

As she expected you respond “I’ll be there shortly.” Of course you’ll be there shortly. You’ve been waiting for this moment since you last saw her just hours ago. You crawl out of the depths of your comforting bed and to her room you march, leash intact. You contemplate the benefits of attempting to breach the zone as you lay in bed next to her. You take this opportunity to make an abrasive hand zone breaching movement. You think to yourself “this will show her I don’t want to be just friends.” In rhythm you roll over and wrap your fingers around her waist, because in reality you want more. But she doesn’t feel the same way, man. Sorry, bro. She rolls over, looks at you with her sleepy eyes, which you perceive as a tender sincerity; don’t think too much of it. “Hey, can you give me a tissue?” This subtle power move just removed your coiled fingers from her hip and was her way of saying she’s not letting you breach the zone, dude. But, hey, at least she asked you to come up right? That’s what you wanted right? Time to be with her, right? That’s what your dimwitted text read to her. But wrong, you don’t want that, you never wanted just that. Inside you didn’t want to subject your time with reading a chapter of ‘Me, Earl and The Dying Girl’ while cooing her to sleep. You didn’t aspire a year spent getting to know her obsessions, and what she likes to lead to 2 a.m. night readings. But that’s your fault, bro. Nightly readings don’t end with anything synonymous to a passionate eye-staring hookup, at least not for you. If you want her to perceive you differently, if you want to stop reading ‘Me, Earl and The Dying Girl’ and have that passionate eye-staring hook up you just have to do one thing, create the change, dare the possibility of rejection. What could you possibly lose? Something you never had?

Stop tailing your every text with emojis. She doesn’t think it’s cute. She thinks it’s adorable. There’s a difference. But I’ve always done that, and she replies with the blushy face emoji. So, you’re wrong, it has to be working. The only way out of the adorable perception, is in; to be a friend and nothing more, to text her like you text your guy friends. Don’t send her a “Goodnight :)” text every night. You don’t send those to your bros. Don’t comment on her sundresses. Friends don’t do that either. But you were supposed to watch ‘NCIS’ with her after class tomorrow. Well, if you want to grasp on to the hope of revenging that teasing belly shirt you need to be clear with your intentions.

In lieu of you transitioning from boyhood to manhood, things may become awkward. Don’t act weird and avoid human contact with incessantly refreshing your Twitter page as you walk to class together. Trust the process, be her friend and nothing more. She may distance herself from you. She may not send you a good morning text. If she doesn’t, it’s working. She may not ask you the following day how her hair looks as you walk to class. It’s better than being her asexual best friend. Being her asexual best friend comes with a contract; a label that all will see, the “We Only Cuddle On Her Terms And I’m Ok With That.” And if you are, if you’re sincerely and dearly ok with that, then I’m not sorry for you.

There’s just one more thing that you have to become comfortable with if you decide not losing something you never had, being her second option. Because that’s all you’re going to be to her. Don’t complain when you begin receiving texts such as “Sorry, can’t, out to dinner with my boyfriend. How about tomorrow? :)” Can’t say I didn’t warn you, bro.