It seems that fate has twisted itself into a double helix.
Despite being three hundred miles from the city we both live in, I spent Friday night out with the recent drinking buddy.
We went out with some of her friends to a bar in the city and socialized until three in the morning. At some point in the evening, after heavy drink and casual conversation, she initiated a mostly uncomfortable discussion about "us".
There�s something eerie about shouting questions and answers about potential relationships in the middle of a group of people. While no one can hear us over the music, it seems that everyone would be able to discern the situation just by observing it. Put on the spot, in the middle of the spot.
"Are we friends or are we more then friends?"
I gave her the best answer I could through several stammers and stutters.
"We�re somewhere between."
In all honesty, I don�t know where this is going. I don�t know if my anxiety is growing or fleeting at this point. I might calm down by next week and everything will be rose, or I might never come around.
My over-analytical mind can pick apart every single string of emotion that causes trepidation when I think of her, but when I�m in the moment, I relax and simply enjoy her company. She�s an attractive girl, and genuinely fun and interesting, but something inside me is timid and reluctant to take that to another place. If I were to try to shut that off and ignore those fears, they would only deepen and fester.
I don�t really understand the point of a relationship at this point in my life. I�ve become so self-sufficient in the past year, that a union of minds and hearts seems alien to me. The notion of physical intimacy doesn�t get my blood running. I�ve come to think of the skin�s comforts in terms of casual lies and false security. I�ve convinced myself, perhaps fool heartedly, that I won�t ever need anyone for the rest of my life.
I suppose it�s just hard to readjust yourself to accept the concept of self imposed vulnerability, especially when history details excessive failure, but to impose the stigma of past cruelty on a girl of this quality would be criminal.
When we left, she held my hand for nearly the entire walk back to the car.
