This month that someone was me. Nearly a year of friendship with S has gone by, a year in which the bond has grown stronger, in which confidences have been shared and during which I've begun to learn how to suppress my own emotions, namely jealousy, in order to better provide a shoulder to cry on.
Then recently I became the needy one. Restlessness swelled inside me and panic threatened to suffocate me as I watched his confidence blossom and a string of pretty girls fall prey to his flirtations.
I thought it might be me. Irrational fears clouding my ability to see clearly, inventing signs that weren't really there, taunting me for having let myself invest so much of my personal happiness in him.
But sure enough, there's a new girl in his life, or in his bed at least, since he claims that I've retained my role as confidante. I feel lost, bereft, as though a real relationship has ended, and it's taking time to realise that emotional intimacy without physical intimacy is just friendship and physical intimacy without an emotional connection is just sex. It's a lesson he too would perhaps be wise to learn.
