I can’t figure you out.
I can’t figure out if you want me to back off, or if you want me to come closer.
I can’t figure out why one day we have a really good conversation, the next banter, and the next after that, nothing at all.
I can’t figure out if I did something to hurt you, or if you’re trying to manage expectations I don’t have, or if I scare you, or if this is just how it is because this is who we are.
I can’t figure out if you think about me, let alone what you think about me, or if you think about me at all.
I can’t figure out if you want to be my friend, or if you’re interested in something more, or if you don’t want to be anywhere near me.
I can’t figure out if you’re a man, or just a boy.
And I’m not normally not the type of person who has to have things figured out. I go with what I feel, and what I feel is usually right. But my heart is in pieces right now, and I’m not feeling much of anything, and so I’m left with my mind. My mind that overanalyzes everything and is entirely undependable; my mind that thinks one thing one minute, and a completely different thing the next; my mind that can examine things from just about every angle and still end up off-base.
You’re funny, and smart, and thoughtful, and I like having you around. You make my world marginally better. And I think we’d be great friends, if nothing else.
But I can’t figure out what you’re thinking. Maybe it doesn’t make a difference to you whether I’m around or not. Maybe my presence in your world isn’t as big of a deal as yours in mine. Maybe you have dozens of people like me in your life, and you don’t need another one. Maybe it’s something else. I don’t know.
And it bugs me that I don’t know.
I hope someday I pluck up the playground-like courage to tell you what I think about you – that I want to be friends because I want you in my life.
But if I’m not ever sure where you’re standing, I’m not sure I’ll ever get there.