Maybe in Another World...

I grew up with this girl. I admired her for being able to talk and make friends with no problem. She was everything I wasn’t. She was everything I wished I could be.

Later on in life, I found myself missing her. After years of feeling like I was justified in ending our friendship, upon reflection, that justification gradually began to slip away, little by little, and I started to regret how I used to be. I used to push her away constantly. Even then, she still spent time with me. I didn’t even have the courage to tell her face-to-face that I didn’t want to be her friend anymore. I ended our friendship over the internet, back when instant-messaging was still a thing. My brother, who was friends with her brother, told me that she cried after that. I made her cry. Because of my own selfishness.

At one point, I arranged to meet up with her to get closure on shit that didn’t matter and on a whim, I tried to revive that friendship, but to no avail. I have no one to blame but myself. I had convinced myself that we were too different. But that wasn’t true. We played dolls together. We watched movies and TV shows together. We danced together. I just didn’t make the effort to try and connect with her about those interests. Even so, she watched my favorite show Sailor Moon with me. One time, I stood on her porch with a book about the Japanese language and she asked if she could see it, but I denied her, childishly possessive of an interest I wanted to belong to me and only me.

If I could go back in time, I’d know better than to shut her out. I’d know better than to be so selfish. I’d speak with her about American Idol and The Notebook and all of the other stuff we watched. I’d actually make the effort to connect with her. If I could do that, I’d imagine that we’d still be friends now, or maybe more.

Maybe the years of dreams I’ve had of her would be realized. We’d be together, kissing in bed, kissing in the pool. She’d only want to experiment with me at first, not displaying too much emotional interest. Subconsciously, I believe that this is my way of punishing myself for how much I used to take her for granted. I’d have to be there for her and support her over many dreams before she even started having feelings for me. I’d learn that her parents were homophobic. My parents would know that we were together, but they wouldn’t approve because they don’t like her. Against all odds, we’d see each other in secret. We’d grow closer and closer. She’d finally return my feelings and back me up against the wall, kissing me with a passion I’ve been longing for.

The story is bound to continue so long as I still harbor these feelings for her. I know that dreams are born from fear and desire, but I can’t help but wish that these dreams I’m having are bits and pieces of a life I lead in an alternate universe where I never stopped being her friend. That may just be wishful thinking on my part, but I find it to be a comforting thought to know that there’s a me out there in another world who hasn’t made the same mistakes I’ve made.