I wish you could understand without getting the wrong idea. I so badly wish you could. It feels like our friendship just completely revolves around her, the entire friendship. And it’s so goddamn frustrating! If only you knew. If only I could tell you. I try so hard to get you to accept me, that now I’ve become afraid to show you other sides of me. Like the hurt side of me, the mad side of me—but only when I’m hurt and mad because of you. But I can’t. Because I’m scared. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen afterwards. Are you going to let the guilt of being such good friends with me finally eat you up? Are you going to think I’m not worth it anymore and leave? Or are you going to leave me because you can’t satisfy my needs, my wants? From the start, you knew I was malnourished. You knew I didn’t get enough love, enough care, to make me truly happy. You knew I had too many bad experiences in the past to be confident with present relationships. You knew. And I thought that meant something. I thought that meant that I would finally find that person. You know, the one that’s your best friend, but it doesn’t matter that he’s a guy and you’re a girl. The one that knows every little detail about you, from what flavor gum you like to the way your hair changes color in the sun to the way you respond to people telling you you’re sorry. The one that puts a big bow on a box of Cap’n Crunch and delivers it to your door, because he knows that’s your favorite cereal. I thought you would be that guy for me. I got my hopes up, and I was patient with you. I knew you felt bad about the idea of caring about me more than you did—you thought that would be betraying her. I knew you were afraid to compliment or praise me—you thought that would be betraying her. I knew the conflict you were in. But that didn’t stop me from wishing, wanting. It seems like she’s the main thing you talk about, all the time. And I can’t get enough attention from you. And I know you love her, and I respect that—but can’t you love me, too? Not in that way, of course, I don’t love you that way either. But you don’t understand how much I desire that special friendship from you, that special care, that special love. I almost crave it. You don’t get it, do you? Don’t you see my heart slice every time you talk about her? Don’t you hear the pain in my silence when you express to me your love for her? I just… I just want you to be that guy. And you get me so mad because you can’t be, because you’re so obsessed with her, because you’re so afraid of me! And I want to tell you all of this, I want to, but I feel like if I do I’m going to be taking a step into a huge fog—either falling off a cliff I didn’t see, or passing through the fog safely—possibly with a few scrapes from tripping. But I don’t know which it’s going to be, and I’m afraid I’m going to be falling off that cliff. I can’t stand to get my heart broken again. You know that, right? Maybe, though, just maybe, I should tell you. Because really, there’s no difference between not telling you and telling you. I’m getting my heart broken now anyways. And even though I would get this empty hole in my stomach, in my heart, if things didn’t work out, maybe it’d be better for me to tell you. Better for me. Better for you. I wouldn’t have my false hopes to deceive me anymore, and you wouldn’t possess that everlasting guilt. So maybe, just maybe, I should tell you. Even though the embarrassment would not be bearable, even though I’d be stepping out of my comfort zone… maybe you should know. I don’t want to lose you. You know that, right? But I don’t know if I can go on like this, pretending nothing matters. You know I’m always mad at you, I know you do, you said so. You don’t know why, though. So I guess I should step into that fog. Right?