It worked. My plan worked. And now, we’re back to normal; as friends, just as it should be.
I honestly knew it wouldn’t end well if you ever knew. And it almost didn’t. Almost. If I hadn’t lied, that is.
I almost never lied to you, to be honest. I felt safe telling you things, letting you know everything that I felt and thought. And now I see that even this has its limitations. I can’t tell you about the feelings that reside in my chest as of now; they might end up destroying everything. So I had to lie. I had to tell you that I made a stupid mistake. That I had mistaken feelings of friendship for feelings of love. That I never really liked you, I just wasn’t used to being so close to someone. And by some miracle, you bought it. And it seemed as though a huge weight was lifted off your chest. I’m glad. I hate being a burden to the people I care about. I was just another bad thought anyway; a headache, a pain in the ass. But I fixed it. And I’m stuck between feeling victorious and proud- since I was able to save this friendship of ours- and disappointed, frustrated because I had to lie to you just to make sure you would be fine with me. Just to make sure I wasn’t making you suffer. But it was for the greater good, anyway. So its ok. I’m used to this anyway. As long as we can stay friends, as long as I can still have my therapist with me, I’m good. As long as I dont lose you, and this comfort, this ease that we feel when we talk to each other.
I know you like her, anyway. And I’ll continue to listen- don’t worry.