Let me tell you a story. One day, I met a boy. He was nice, smart, funny. You know, those qualities that first attract you to someone. He liked me, and I liked him.

He had red hair. Mine was brown. He was a deejay and student. I was a pseudo politician and very busy student. He lived in San Francisco. I lived in Los Angeles. We liked each other... so we tried really hard to make a relationship work despite packed schedules and 380 miles of California between us.

After a little over one year, we gave up. Even though it had worked for a while, things changed. He was frustrated, so was I. I wasn't getting what I needed from him. He couldn't give me what I needed. We needed to be honest. So, we stopped and finally admitted to ourselves that at that point in our lives, it was too tough. It'd be better if were just friends. It was a good idea and the best thing we could have done at that point.

Time was too limited and distance was too great. So, we remained friends, at least we tried... and that wasn't easy either.

I'd see him again a few times. Each time I'd struggle to keep myself from acting as his girl rather than his friend. There were times when I lost the struggle, other times when I just sat it out, and still other times when I fought fiercely against all logic. I dealt with it by laughing. I cried. I gave him the silent treatment. I yelled at him. I was nice. I was sarcastic and mean. I played seductress. I stayed away. I lied and avoided telling him my true feelings. I told him the truth and let it all out. I drank too much just so that I could "loosen up a bit" and be more comfortable in the situation. The thin line was blurred, crossed and forgotten, but not for long. We always went back to our own sides.

I met him two years ago. I've liked him and grown to love him since then. Those feelings were mixed with others for a long time: bitterness, hurt, resentment and a tinge of anger. I hated feeling that way. I missed him. A lot. I missed everything about him. His touch, voice, kisses, jokes, the attention, even his penchant for being flakey. I missed his city, brother, and annoying cat (RIP Itchy). I missed him more than I even thought I could miss him, and I still do.

I've had a year to heal and grow. I can't say that the process is complete just yet, though. I still look back at this time one year ago and feel like crying. I keep telling myself that it all takes time. I believe it. I do.

Me siento: complacent
Escuchando: the love below by andre 3000

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