Every once in a while we get to choose how a story ends.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered to me with a sense of finality. Ironic, that you chose those words and to say them as though they were the final words in an argument. There was nothing I could say or do to make you change your mind. “This isn’t over.” And so it wasn’t. I’m going to skip over the night we met because well, that’s a memory to be preserved and only to be revisited by the two of us. I will say this: what happened was magical enough for you to whisper the words that I’ve been carrying with me. They were real and raw and emotional. Those words gave me hope when I didn’t have much left. On my bad days, I say them to myself as a reminder that I have to keep pushing forward. They’ve taken on a new meaning lately, but the urgency in which you said them that night still replays in my mind.

It was a full month before I got to see you again. When you introduced me to one of my [now] friends and she said, “I’ve heard all about you,” (not in the I-know-what-you-did-last-summer kind of way, but the this-guy-is-super-into-you kind of way) I knew that your feelings were real. All of Friday night you kept pulling me close and wrapping your arms around me. At one point you whispered, “I just want you near me.” After binging Limitless the next day (still can’t believe we went through 10 episodes), we decided to go out for dinner. Remember running through all that rain? When we got back to your place, I wasn’t feeling too hot. You offered to take me to the hospital, you brought me water, and you sat beside me while I laid on your couch violently shaking from food poisoning (seriously, those damn tacos!). You were so sweet about the whole thing. I was so afraid that you’d think I was crazy and making it up or something, but you were so full of grace and kindness. It’s safe to say that we were super comfortable with each other by the end of the weekend, something that neither of us were expecting.

I think we had “the talk” too soon. Or maybe the timing was perfect and I’m over-analyzing it like I do with most things in life, either way, I read and reread our words often. Not that it makes this any easier. You told me essentially from the beginning that as much as you liked me, you couldn’t be in a relationship with me. That you couldn’t make the “greater commitment” and that you thought it was bullshit. You have to focus on furthering your career and you think that being in a relationship would complicate and take your focus off what you are trying to do. I told you then that I respected your decision and I respected that you were honest with me. I told you all the reasons I admire you, and most of those things haven’t changed. But it should have stopped there. I should have stopped it there..

Surprises aren’t my strong suit but I wanted to surprise you a few weeks later. I had every intention in doing so, too. Until I thought about the fact that you may have plans  and that I might not have a place to crash. So I inevitably text you and ruined said surprise. Regardless, the look on your face when you saw me was the same as that first weekend. You told me I was silly for coming to see you, just for a night. You also gave me a look that night I haven’t been able to erase, something else I’ve burned to memory. A glance that should have sent me running right then, because I know that ‘flight’ was your response. In that moment, you recognized that you had feelings for me. And in the same split second, I saw the fear in your recognition.

Everything kind of changed after that second weekend. You quit texting me first; you quit responding as much. You pushed me away a little at a time to a point where we were barely talking at all. But not enough that you weren’t still inviting me to things. You also never completely ghosted, so I have to give you credit there, too. I’ve seen you a few times since that second weekend, and every time, you still get that stupid happy grin on your face. You tell me that you’re glad to see me, and I know deep down that your sentiments are genuine. Just know that words can carry a lot of weight. So, I’ll leave you with this- I told you that I’d always support you and I will. I believe in you and I believe in what you’re doing.

But now I’m the one who’s going to run.

“This isn’t over.” And yet it is.