"Just the thought of you makes me want to cry" just played on the radio as I sit outside.


After he finally built up the courage, he approached her. He had decided that it wasn't because of some hope, some dream which could possibly be realized, that he had to tell her, but because it was the only way he could be authentic... both to her and to himself.

"I like you," he managed to utter. After the awkwardness, the expected reply, "I just want to be friends" came back at him.

"I know... it's just that, well, I had to say it... Because I wanted to be honest... and I hope it doesn't hurt whatever friendship we may have... I figured you could just take it as a compliment?"

Her response told him this wouldn't be possible... a hesitated, but poignant, "Ok..."

All he could do at that point was decide that he had to make an escape. "Well, I have to go... let me know if you need any help later with that homework assignment." A still numbed, shell-shocked reply came from her lips, "oh, yeah, ok... thanks."

Turning around, he retreated home, where he could run further away from the realities of his condition, the human condition of those with a life that isn't as it's wanted. In the end, all remained the same: the best relationships were the ones dreamed up.

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