I'm sleepless in Dubai.
Even though I don't really miss Hugg (what a feat, it's only been a day), I've become so accustomed to receiving his text messages every couple of hours, that I started growing more and more anxious as hours passed without him replying. Finally, I called. We spoke for 30 seconds, but it was so nice hearing his voice, that I had enough to last me the entire day.
The thing is, I really believe we are meant to be just friends, I think we are both mature enough to pull off a platonic relationship. I am still unsure whether or not I believe in such a thing, but if it is defined as a relationship between two people without the sexual, physical bit, then yeah, it is doable. But what about all the sensuality and the sexual tension that usually exists in such a relationship?
Personally, I feed off of that tension and then channel all of those frustrations creatively. I am most inspired when there is a man in my life, but not when he is in my bed. The latter is too simple and too predictable an ending. The day a man tells me he'd rather wait, will be the day I'll invent something wonderful. And that man, will be wonderful. And that man, might just as well turn out to be a figment of my imagination.
Not that I haven't met one. Mr. Keller, he wanted to wait. But he wasn't so inspiring, since the reason behind his refusal to consolidate our love was more a matter of comfort, than that of a conquering of mind over phallus. However, he did conquer and it was a pleasure watching the battle.
I think of Hugg and I think we could do it, we could turn a new blank page, because what's done is done. I don't regret one bit of it, it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a full stop to a magical moment. However, now, "the recapturing of magic" feels a little forced, a little bit like an elephant in the room – it's too big for our bed. In any case, that doesn't mean we have to stop sleeping in the same bed, I enjoy it too much to give it up that easily.
About a year ago, I had a best friend, or so he was given the title. Today, if you'd see the two of us in the same room, you'd think we had never met – but that's a different story.
We had known each other for about a year, and by then he had become the person I'd call as soon as I'd return home with a story; he was my living diary. When we first met, I was his crush, and he was my Prince. I really enjoyed his company, and he enjoyed mine too, and sometimes that feeling of joy can be confused for something deeper.
I remember the day we went for a drive along the coast, it was the most beautiful spring afternoon. The top was down, the wind pulled at my hair and the sea was blue blue blue. We stopped the car and went walking on the rocks. It was a little awkward for me; the whole setting was reminiscent of a cliché scene from a romantic comedy, so I spoke of crabs and waves crashing. We sat down, in silence, and looked into the distance. Some time into that moment, he put his arm around me. I remember thinking, "Oh no!", but I didn't want to appear hostile, so I just let it stay there. I think he got the message from the way I held my breath and remained frighteningly still. It never happened again.
We became really close in a short period of time and we used to share some very intimate details. I remember waiting impatiently to see him, so we could both divulge what had happened over the weekend.
A few of weeks into our friendship, he confessed that he had a crush on me. I told him that I was aware of it, but that I wasn't able to reciprocate. He took it well and we never spoke of the issue again.
So last year, during one of my dry spells, (due to Botticelli's need to be left alone), we decided to explore each other where the usual social protocol for platonic friendship would never permit. Prince was to come over and I was to put on some Barry White.
When I look back at that night, I remember it as a blur. The only detail that stands out clear above the rest is his crisp white shirt against his tanned skin. It was a disaster; we never went through with it. He blamed it on the cold marble floor that chilled his feet, but I just took it as an obvious sign that we were not meant to cross the thin red line.
Fortunately, we took it as a valuable lesson and continued being best friends.
But wait, we don't even talk now…
Was it because we lost the tension? Was it because the possibility of romance was completely obliterated? Or was it because we grew apart as people do?
However, with Hugg, the situation is a little different. Already, we have denied our future the possibility of romance, the ambitious promise to NOT fall in love. Yet, we continue releasing our sexual tension. If we were to stop, it would build up again, because at the end of the day, the electricity between us exists. It would free the two of us, and we could forever have that freedom if we continue being strong and mature. I have to discuss it with him, but I also need to make clear that I want to do this because I really care about him and deeply value our understanding of one another. If we continue like this, something will go wrong because I am not ready and don't want to be.
He gets me, he shows me and he likes me – I would like to have him around for a very long time indeed.