My experience with liking my straight best friend

First time poster really- I don't know if this area is reserved for just asking questions or not. But I felt that I really needed an outlet within the wondrous anonymity that the internet brings.
Just a word of warning, I tend to ramble on for a bit, being descriptive... also it is my writing style that makes it sound like this- not trying to make a point but... eh for anyone willing to read, for anyone who loves a best friend in spite of their orientation- i welcome them to read my drawn out story- just as I have read similar stories before me

So here goes...

It had all began in high school. At first, I didn't even take any notice of the guy, but I had wondered why he would be watching me from a distance. Looking back now, after everything that has happened, it must have been just pure coincidence and curiosity from his part- I always had a way of somehow drawing attention to myself within a small room. I still like to think however, that there was really something there.

I still would like to believe and hope that.

And rapidly, just as suddenly as we had exchanged numbers one day after class, we became instantly close- texting and trying to hang out with each other every single day; becoming distressed when either one of us would be 10 minutes delayed in our text messages; texting each other before we slept, after we woke up; and perceiving, from at least my end, symptoms of jealousy whenever either of us were with other people or with a girl. That sense of hope that I clung upon, that sense of attendant excitement and unravelling expectancy, as I recall, were some of the most exhilarating moments within my life. I had never related to anyone this profoundly, nor had I ever met someone that I had established such a deep and meaningful connection with (at least from my perspective). And there were those moments, when a word or phrase of his in pure reciprocation, in pure return of this affection, would be uttered to me and everything would become beautiful.

This blossoming of our friendship continued to strengthen and strengthen. And always the day would end with receiving a text from him just before we went to sleep, insurmountable was that distance, both physically, and by the constraints imposed by a cautious, intimate friendship.

One day, he talks to me. He talks about meeting that special someone, that special someone that would capture his heart, that would be different from all the others- that would somehow be this unique entity that engaged him both intellectually and emotionally. At the time, I had really believed that it was me. That something that we had- no, it just couldn't have been fabricated. It couldn't have just been myself perceiving what I wanted to see, or myself misinterpreting and wishfully thinking and willing for something that wasn't there.

But it wasn't me. It was this hypothetical "dream girl" that he would soon after that, so often talk about from now and then. My initial suspicion had been that, perhaps he was just closeted like me- like how I, in spite of my intimate declarations, had been remaining closeted and vague upon my feelings directed to him- leaving cryptic hints and messages with double entendres (that, I guess, were never really noticed by him thinking back). But unfortunately, the way he spoke about her, the way he described with this authenticity and deep sincerity, it was irrefutably someone else, someone that will one day be his.
I had, and still do, so wanted for my sentiments to be shared and mutual. In my eyes, it still is him, and only him that captivated me so...

After that however, it had been this vicious cycle that swept me up- with my hopes raised, with surreptitious gestures suspected and interpreted, with everything looking back, so convincingly pointing towards a tying of affection between us. Thinking back, I had been so sure- but it must have been some horrendous fabrication within my mind- how is it that one can delude themselves as so? How- I was so sure that what I was seeing was real.

He would often tell me how much he cares about me, or how important I was to him, and that how he had never met someone who was able to engage him equally in both intellectual and humorous discourse- and how, on one day when I asked if my feelings were mutual, he had said "Yes." But it had been under the innocent pretence of friendship and perfect amity to which he had agreed and committed to- not to some deeper affection operating.

This continued on for some months, until one day, upon a whim and a whiff of his initial homophobia, I came out to him. Initially he spoke of respecting boundaries and limits- but soon enough this was all forgotten. Our friendship had been stronger than that. It was able to withstand anything he had said. Soon enough however, came complete acceptance- the intimacy that we shared before this coming out remained, and in some respects, strengthened and grew as there was no longer any pain being caused by talk of the idealized, hetero-normative society that we used to talk about. I believe that I had also helped him in a way, by making him a more tolerant person, accepting of the differences that inevitably exist within our society.

And so this continued on for some months- I was exhilarated to have found someone that I could open my heart to entirely, be entirely truthful and be unconditionally accepted, and loved (in a different manner) for who I was. And yet, there was still this inescapable distance, sort of like a peninsula of physical contact- unaffectionate and brutal that so remained. But we would always be friends. We would always be best mates no matter what. And I believe him.

And then there was this night when we had been at some place, and I remember on the dance floor watching him from across the room. Our eyes met and remained there for a few seconds- just intently staring. He winked at me and told me to follow him to the cabin. I, unsure of what to expect, distanced myself once within the cabin (due to the fact that it was still quite public). He poured us drinks and mixed them, and we went back to dancing in the event.

That look, that look in his eyes, I will never forget it. That moment, and within this moment, I still firmly believe that there had to be something there- there must have been something there, there had to be something operating beneath everything. It couldn't have been just a passing look, it couldn't have been just a gaze... there was something there, I was so sure of it- that look in his eyes...

Nonetheless, upon a random day, I had made my hint much too obvious of my underlying affection for him. He seized this opportunity, and probed me on the matter for 5 hours. I oscillated between excitement, cautious optimism that perhaps he too had wanted to reciprocate, and had hence taken such a persistent and enduring interest, had him declare that he cared deeply for me (something he admitted) and that I was his best mate. But that wasn't the end of it. He went on and spoke, and once and for all spoke of how he never thought of me that way.

The beautiful thing about that night was how amiable the whole thing went down. There was no awkwardness, there was no wailing cry of despair and pain- it was sort of something melancholy, a sort of melancholy, not depressing but sad parting. We would always be friends forever and he would always be there and be around for me no matter what. And yet, as my personality dictates, I still maintained a frail, deluded and disconnected hope that perhaps.... just perhaps...

In spite of this however, the very nature of that gentle let down told me that it was final. There was a sense of finality in the way he had let me down, a sense of forthright and determined rejection of my sentiments that told me that this was the reality, and that nothing could convince me otherwise. Had he thrown a violent tantrum, had he just become angry with me and in some effort, attempt to cast ties from me, I would have clung onto the hope that maybe he was in denial, perhaps I made him question how he felt, and who he was. But no- there was a certainty in the softness and gentleness of his tone, a certainty in the way he spoke which reminded me that I wouldn't be the one to make him happy- that I wouldn't be the one to make him feel like how I felt- that I wasn't the one that would engage him both intellectually, spiritually, emotionally and humorously. It wasn't me. It belonged again to that hypothetical girl- and sometimes thinking about it, thinking that it wasn't me hurts me so much.

I've given this guy my soul and my heart essentially, having done all of that in this blinded certainty that it was all reciprocated. The very thought of starting again, trying to establish the intimacy and closeness with someone who is actually gay... it leaves me feeling exhausted and sad. It leaves me feeling tired and lonely. It leaves me feeling so tired and tired.

 

I'm really sorry to hear that!! I hope it works out for you two and you become strong friends again for old time sake... it's a complex thing however... when you admit your love for someone who does not return it- because in their mind it will always be a status difference- and moreover an inequality in sentiment. On much thought however, I don't see why you two can't still be great friends in spite of the feelings. I see it as sort of being like a "Fry & Leela" type of thing in the older episodes of "Futurama"- still great friends but funny and easy in a way