Everyone knows that the sidewalk ends where the street begins. And I guess that’s pretty much how my story goes; I’ve had too many endings in my life, and my beginnings have been limited. But out of all the beginnings and endings I have had only one really stand out to me, and that story starts with Alice.
I watched her in the halls, walking from class to class, I watched her walking down the street bobbing her head to the music from her headphones while walking to work, and I watched as she kissed her boyfriend on his cheek and wiggled her fingers to her girlfriends standing across from her in the crowded room. But I wasn’t obsessive, I didn’t stalk, I didn’t pry, and I didn’t interrupt. I observed from the only place I was allowed to, which was never enough for me; I always wanted more of her, I always wanted-hoped-that she wanted the same from me. I was her best friend, and I loved her more than a heart is supposed to love, and could never tell her how I felt. It wasn’t my place to tell her, there wasn’t room for me that way in her hectic life style. I was supposed to be the friend, the sometimes protector on those late night walks home from the library, the occasional shoulder to cry on, but never the lover.
The only way I wanted her was the only way she never thought about me.