Fmerf.

I had a really nice, but really long ride to and from Old Forge tonight. Floyd Band officially kicked off their summer season with a fantastic concert - and I'm not even saying that because I'm in the band; we just played significantly better than normal tonight. In fact, if I were my dad, I might say that we "plowed solid."

But I had a lot of time to think while I was in the car (you know, in between praying that my tire wouldn't fall off and I'd be stranded and get eaten alive by bears, and wishing that my damn radiator would stop overheating). And I don't particularly love thinking, especially lately. Because while my life has been surprisingly good lately (wonderful, even) there's one thing that's really been bugging me. I touched on it a bit in my last entry - namely the paragraph about the boy I took a lot of chances for. Not the guy who thought I rolled my eyes too much... the disappearing man.

I resigned myself, over the past few months, to the fact that nothing would happen between us. I fell for him hard - and super suddenly - while dressed up as Olive Penderghast. Maybe an omen (dressing up as a fake skank doesn't really shed the best light on a person). But Olive ended up in love at the end of Easy A, and that's what I wanted too. I wanted a man riding a lawnmower to come sweep me away to the infamous Simple Minds song... I wanted a quintessential John Hughes movie romance and god damn it I wanted to look like Emma Stone.

None of that happened.

Disappearing man and I had quite a bit in common, and honestly? I thought we got along perfectly. I was definitely a giddy little mess when I was around him, but I'm going to chalk it up to the fact that I was in love (or in lust) with someone who WASN'T my boyfriend. In retrospect, maybe that's what scared him away. If I could do that to my boyfriend, I could probably do that to him if someone better came along.

But really, when he was around, we got along famously. And there were moments when I thought that I was on the brink of a Hughes-ian (Hughes-esque?) romance. Moments in the California king bed when I thought that we could go on like that forever. Pillow fight and awkward moments and a lot of touching-but-not-really-touching-because-we're-high-schoolers kind of things. His friend even messaged me telling me, essentially, to go forth and conquer.

Or plow solid.

So I did. I gave it my best effort. If I were Pat Benatar, I would have hit him with my best shot and motherfucking fired away. And from all that, I got nothing.

I laid myself on the line though. I told him, on one slightly drunk ride from Sylvan Beach, that I was trying my hardest because I liked him and I didn't think I was getting anything in return. He countered that he wasn't looking for a relationship. Fine, I'm glad he told me. Really. Because nothing sucks more than unrequited love. So I gave up the ghost. We did some laughing and said we'd just continue to be friends.

And I was fine with that. Really. I was glad that I could stop hoping for something that would never happen (goodbye Emma, goodbye John Hughes) and just chill out. And really, we made good friends.

But then he disappeared.

(His name isn't disappearing man for nothing, I suppose.)

And thus, I was wrong. There is one thing worse than unrequited love: unrequited friendship.

I haven't seen him since a week after our come-to-Jesus friendship talk, where he showed up at an event that I didn't know he was going to be at and I, being the sucker that I am, finagled my way out of hanging out with some of my best friends to spend the night with him. I left in the morning and haven't heard from him since. AKA over a month. AKA longer than he's ever gone without communication, and this includes during when he was cycling across the southern US for two months and somehow found time to send me postcards. I've sent three text messages, called twice, and emailed once. Nothing.

Honestly? I'm missing him a lot. I'm sad that he hasn't returned any of my attempts at communication, and I'm ticked because I thought we had a good friendship, and I'm fucking angry because I wasted my time trying to be friends with someone who obviously doesn't care about me. It's not like I broke down and told him I was in love with him and would never get over him or went batshit the last time we hung out... we had a great time just hanging out as friends. Or so I thought.

I don't know where to go from here. Really. I can't write him an email about how bummed I am, because he won't reply. I can't call him or text him to say that this friendship is kaput and this is my swan song because he won't answer. I can't show up at his house because I know if I do, I'll start crying because I'm an emotional face-to-face "fuck you" teller, but I can't wait 'til the next time I see him because that'll probably be never. And really? I won't hold my breath waiting for him to come around, because I'll suffocate before then.

So I just have to drop it.

If you read this, disappearing man, I hope you know that you hurt me. Not because you didn't fall in love with me, not because you didn't want to be in a relationship with me, but because you didn't want to be my friend. Your friendship brought me infinite amounts of happiness when you managed to spare me time in your life. I hope I didn't do something to make you not want to be my friend, because I think I'm pretty damn cool and I think, deep down, that you think that too. Despite how hurt I am, I'll always be your rabbit, and I hope you know that, even though I say I won't hold my breath for you, I will, and I probably will forever.

Plow solid, my friend.