The Ones That Got Away

            Half a dozen girls are going to read this and think I’m writing about them.  I wish I could say I wasn’t, but I am.  As the old saying goes, fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.  I’ve been fooled time after time, and there’s no one to blame but myself.

            She’s cute; not in a naïve sort of way—she definitely knows it.  She’s independent; she’s not going to waste her time worrying about me.  She’s not the dating type; chances are she’s never even had a boyfriend before.

            I’m shy; I don’t just walk up to a girl at the bar.  I’m passive; it’s become exceedingly clear that I believe words speak louder than actions.  I’m not the hook-up type; anyone who reads this blog knows that much.

            She sat next to me in class, so that was a good enough reason to talk to her.  Since seventh grade, “What’s the homework?” has been one of my favorite pick-up lines.  From AIM, to Facebook, and now, even iMessage, my scholarly queries have spanned 3 generations of text-messaging platforms.  Thus, small talk leads to gossip, and eventually friendship.  Friends are all we’ll ever be, but I don’t know that yet.  As our conversations become more frequent and our social lives begin to overlap, I see potential.  Perhaps she’s interested, why not?

            These relationships (for lack of a better word) are never one-sided.  More often than not, she’s the one starting the conversations.  Bars, parties, dinner, movies, I’ve done it all with her, just always as friends.  She asks me for favors, and gives me advice, and genuinely seems to care about my life.

            My friends ask about her, and so do my parents.  In fact, everyone I know seems to think that we’re dating, except we’re not.  I tell them it’s not like that, and I’m not lying.  I can never figure out the disconnect.

            Here’s where it always takes a turn.  I don’t make a move, always searching for the perfect opportunity and never finding it.  She doesn’t either.  Then, another guy works his way into the picture, and another, and another.  It’s always frustrating—why him, not me?  But, I never do anything about it.

            Soon enough, the semester ends, and I’m still single.  So is she, but it doesn’t matter.  I’ve made a fool of myself once again, and I know it.  The window of opportunity has closed, she’s moved on to bigger and better things, and, thus, the cycle begins once again.