I was 12 when I first saw her. I thought nothing of asking her to sit by me, I thought nothing of her accepting the offer. For months, we sat together in our French lessons. She didn't talk. She was so shy. Gradually, she opened up. We became friends. I knew her better than anyone, and she knew me. Each of our lives was the other. We existed for and because of each other. I could watch her, and find delight in the way her legs crossed, the curl of her hair, the texture of her skin.
I told her, in a rush of emotion, what was happening to me. I told her, that she meant the world to me. She told me, that she felt the same. And it was wonderful.
Until, that is, it fell apart.
She didn't seem attracted to me like I was to her. It took a long time for her to kiss me back. We never kissed properly. Sexual encounters were few and far between, and less than easy. I lay awake at night, imagining the feel of her skin on mine; she didn't. I turned to her in times of hardship; she shied away. I promised her my love and support; she shied away. I asked her to be honest with me; she destroyed me.
We tried to remain friends, but every time I saw her, my head span, my heart raced and I felt like I was drowning - My lifeline was right there, I could reach her, but I could not have her.
I cut all ties, but I watched her. I had reports from reluctant friends, I followed her MySpace. I knew when she wanted to be with a guy, and the pain was fresh. I ran to her rescue when something horrible happened to her, hurting myself, but out of control.
Now we are friends. But she has her boyfriend, and I have this never-ending pain. She came back into my life recently, nothing dramatic, but like nothing had changed. After a long time of stability, I fell apart. And yet, yet I worry about her. I try to look after her. I lecture her and care for her. I can't help myself.
Is it my fault for getting in too deep?
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