Change

Last year — my 10th grade year — my best friend was Alex.
Alex was most of what I thought about, all of what I talked about, and I quickly realized that I was beginning to like him. He wasn’t “beautiful”, wasn’t “gorgeous”; but he was handsome. He was strong and I 100% out of my league. I used to think in leagues. I used to think, “Hey, ME and HIM? Wow…no way ever possible.” But that didn’t keep me from trying so much to grab his attention and hold it on me. I’d flirt with him, do special things for him, I had him over at my house a few times, and I thought that I was really falling for him. He was my best male friend; made me laugh, and was the object of my adoration.

And then I found out he was moving and it was like someone had punched me. Punched me right in the face, in the gut, like they had kicked out the legs from under me and I didn’t have anyone or anything to stand on anymore. No, I wasn’t in love with him — not in the least. Alex was someone I lusted over, I think, and love doesn’t exist in lust. I watched him wrestle and play football, but I never wondered what he did after I left him. I set him up with other girls, pretty, peppy, preppy, positive girls with big boobs and too much makeup because I was “that good of a friend”. But I was miserable.
Honestly: I think it was useless. My liking him was just as any male in America might “like” a cheerleader — they’re great to look at, but beyond the hot facade, there might not be anything else you like.
True, Alex had his sweet, catchy, sometimes even romantic moments where I would fawn and “awwh” over him. But after he moved away, now those things don’t effect me anymore. He was a drug that was removed from my life, and now he has drifted from my thoughts. I rarely think of him anymore, anything more than a friend I can chat with when I’m bored or when I need someone to comfort me.

And I have new comforters. New friends, both guys and girls, who I can call and whose shoulder I can cry on if the need came to it. I’m trying to keep myself from falling into another situation like that because it was really rough on me emotionally. You try thinking you really, really like your best friend, then have that best friend ripped away from you, and after three months of sadness you realize that it’s his face you miss, not his spirit or his laugh or his words. You don’t miss his goofy ways or strange taste in music. I missed him — I still do — he was my best friend and he was a damn good friend. But as hard as it is to think or say, or even type, he was replaceable.

Alex is out. And its rough to try and let someone else in, but I’ve done it. I’ve let someone else occupy my thoughts, my dreams, my feelings, if even only for a second. If only I have one dream or one thought flutter through my mind in a month’s time, it’s happened. And I’m straining to not feel guarded and suspicious. Would someone else hurt me like that without realizing it? It’s so very possible. But no reward without risks, right? *sigh*

I hope you’re right, becca.

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