This morning I found myself explaining the same old, yet twisted tale of my buried love for a man. A mutual friend of my housemate’s stayed the night and in the morning we talked over some porridge breakfast. She told me my housemate may be getting a boyfriend soon to which I delightedly congratulated the idea as well our friend’s matchmaking skills. In just one lapse in reasoning, before I could stop myself, I mistakenly asked her if she could set me up as well. She remarked “I don’t know…I thought you liked someone”.
The person she referred to was probably what I told my housemate about my second unrequited love, of course, they were not informed of the sex of this individual, or was it more like I intentionally kept referring to him as a “her”. It isn’t uncommon anymore for me to casually chatter up a conversation with my friends about who I like, it’s a mutually beneficial one, I tell them what I want to say, they hear what they want to hear. It’s weird for an older teen to continually digress away from the subject of love interests- “oh well, no one in mind currently” “not right now, no love interest for me at the moment”. I feel like I’m biting my own words again of “not misleading anyone anymore”, but this is what it takes, at least before I mention a word of my innate preferences.
Jokingly I asked “Can you find me someone?”
Miss J: “I don’t know…I thought you liked someone”.
“Well I got over her"
She questions “How did you get over her?”
I could barely answer, so the next most fitting response was “I forced myself to”
She inquired, “Did she have a boyfriend” He had a girlfriend
“Yes, she did last semester, I don’t know about now, we don’t talk much”…I regret continuing “I don’t even think we’re friends.”
Immediately she rebuked “What? Why did you like her?” him…
Kris: “Cause I just did” A most unsatisfying answer to her and myself
Miss J: “You’re weird”
I returned with a lame comeback “You’re weird too, wasn’t it the same with the guy you liked”
Miss J: “Nooo.”
Ms. J begged the question again “How do you like someone you don’t even know?”
The same question that made my heart skip the first time asked, but I still had no sufficient answer for her. Nothing I said would be appropriate to describe the relationship of a gay guy watching a straight guy from the borders of each other’s lives. Because simply, it was just that. The basis for our liking does not have to be the normal interactions of a girl and a guy, and usually it isn’t. With a straight man, our hope is every talk we have, every hangout, and every friendly touch he makes is his way of reciprocating to our hidden agenda. It might be case-specific, but all gay-straight crushes involve a distinct line which must not be crossed, and it’s safe for me to recall that this final limit was never within sight. I played my part inconspicuously, unless he observed my every gesture, there were barely any traces of my sentiments toward him. Every move I played put a defined distance between us, resulting in an irreparable gap that I can now admit dejected a bleak situation to a hopeless one.
There was something special in the words of my friend and the inconclusive answer that she beckoned for though it was all shrouded amongst the white lies, the girls, the guys, and the borderline love. Could I even pick out what I really felt before, because every time I see him, I’m overwhelmed by a concoction of emotions so potently brewed over a year and a half. I wish I could throw up what I’ve already ingested, so the residues of this strained crush could finally be put behind me. No longer do I want to suffer the aftereffects, but I do so each time I have to hide what I desire. Such as telling every interested ear that I thought I was truly in love with someone, but not who he was. The delusion has long since been dismissed, for what I felt was not love, no matter how powerful my desire was; after all, it was just one-sided. Although my better judgment tells me to learn from this, I cannot help not remember feeling shaken from it as well. Deep down I want this to be the one and only exposition that is better left sealed in the past.