There was always this fear, that had come to haunt me with any other girl. What happens when I get what I want? What then? When I get the girl, when she falls in love with me - what more is there to achieve? I know, that's a terrible way to look at a relationship with someone you supposedly care about. But then again, when I look back, how many of these women did I actually care for?
It was a feeling of stagnation. Of no moving forward. If I wasn't working towards something, why put in the effort? Why would I even consider it worth my interest?
Apathy in love.
So maybe part of the reason I took so long to make my move on Nichole was not just because I was "enjoying our drawn-out courtship" - although I certainly did. Maybe there was a fear, rooted deeply in me, of the possibility that once I had her, I would no longer want her. Talk about a vicious cycle.
Years later, I would feel bad. I would look at these once-innocent girls, who no longer annoyed or frustrated me as they had in our relationship. I would hear about what I had done to them, how I had broken them. How I had changed them, to be less vulnerable. We had moved past each other, but I was forever the man that had changed them into someone more cautious, less trusting. The first heartbreak, if you will. But they meant nothing to me, although my heart - or my head, who knows - had once told me they meant everything...Before I got them, of course.
And that couldn't happen with Nichole. I could have never looked myself in the face if I had done that to her. Here was someone whom I genuinely cared about. Someone I loved and adored. My best friend. The only one, not related by blood, who would never turn me away. My passing flings with other girls did not even affect me as much as one of her smiles. I suppose that says it right there.
Nonetheless, the fear existed. I was so afraid that it would turn out like every other relationship that I was paralyzed from even trying.
The fact of it was that we had never had the chance to simply be together. Which makes me wonder if this particular fear is just another thing that we share. When I think of her past relationships - not something I make a habit of - I cannot think of one that meant something to her, that affected her the way it did whatever boy she was with. We seemed only to profess our love in the ending moments, the last chances. I think that both of us are so afraid, so scarred by what has happened before, by what we assume to be our own fault, and so deeply dependent on one another that we rather flirt out our unrequited love than risk losing one another to this...infection, this brain and heart disease.
Now and then, I'm struck by the thought that perhaps no other relationship has ever been able to fulfill either of us because we are meant for each other. Maybe it's not something inherently wrong with us, but rather something that our hearts are trying to express. Maybe, as our friendship has seemed to prove, there will always be a desire for more, never a feeling of boredom. Maybe, with her, I can simply be. Be happy.
I distract myself, back to imagining the way it felt to kiss her. There is a feeling of joy. Words like 'content' and 'satisfied' do not convey the emotion. They wouldn't cover the raw feeling of hunger and insatiable desire for move, as if after exploring every emotion in her heart, every thought in her brain, and every inch of her body, there was still more to discover.
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