Reining yourself in because why ruin a good thing? Why make it weird? And then you say goodbye, with a hug, with a snarky remark, and head home. You climb into bed and imagine them with you. You think about how their hair falls in their face, about how they breathe when they sleep. You think about them waking up and nudging you into consciousness with soft kisses down your torso. You sit in bed and think of all the ways you could make their soul dance. How you know their quirks, and it all feels so right, but why? Why is this happening? Why can’t you just be content with what you have now? Except even now you have to control the urge to kiss them, even though it is in your nature, even just on the cheek, because what if it breaks the relationship apart at the seams? You may not even mean it sexually or romantically, but what if? And there’s always the chance they have felt this way too. But it’s only a chance. And why risk it? So you lay there in bed and twist the sheets around your legs and text them back about another person they have feelings toward and coax them into something healthy. You put their happiness before your own. You watch as they stumble and help them rise mightily. You gush over them and try to snuff out the selfishness that builds whenever you see them with someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to them to impose your own wants on them and take away a good friendship. It isn’t always about you. And yet here you are, writing this. Writing this and thinking of someone specific the entire time.

calloused: a field journal