This may come as a complete surprise.

Then, on the other hand, it may not be a surprise at all.

I don't know you anymore. I certainly can't pretend I know how you'd react to anything I threw your way.

But enough dancing. (I know how much you hate it when I do that, skip around the point because I'm too nervous/scared/embarrassed to come right out and say what I'm thinking.)

I spent way too great a percentage of my life thinking I was in love with you, you know that?

Maybe you did know that. I'd swear there were times you felt the same way. Few and far between, granted, but I'm almost sure they were there. I think I'm too insecure to have imagined it. All the same, I wanted it so badly maybe I did. maybe everything I'm about to say is just a figment of my imagination. Either way, I desperately need to say it.

But ... to get back to my point.

I'm through with it now, with that eternal wishing-I-were-with-you-even-though-it-will-never-happen.

Ever since that day ... you must remember *that* day. I don't think I'm exaggerating to say that one day and night meant something to you too ... and I know that nothing happened between us because I didn't let anything happen. But there was something in the air between us that day, some kind of chemistry that had been building up for so long and was just itching to escape and take over.

I remember looking at you for a split second, in between songs playing on my tiny radio, thinking how nice it would feel to finally kiss you, how completely right that could be. And then I thought about what would happen after ... that you'd be leaving in the morning, that we were so far away from each other, that the only person who would end up hurting would be me . and I had a thousand reasons to not put myself in that position.

And I knew, also, that you'd never touch me first. Because you had some measure of respect for me. But you wouldn't have stopped me, if I'd walked over to you -- would you have?

But instead, I went and poured myself another drink, alone, and you fell asleep, and later I did too. And a week later you told me on the phone that you'd met someone who was pretty and funny and smart.

"You'd really like her," you told me. "She's actually a lot like you."

Do you have any idea how much that hurt to hear? All that time, *I'd* been right there waiting for you to come to your senses and realize how perfect we'd be together ... and instead you went searching for someone who was "a lot like" me. But *not* me.

What was wrong with me?

And our friendship -- the odd, makes-no-sense love-being-together everything-understood and always-fun special flirty friendship that we'd had for such a long time, the fear of losing which was the biggest reason I'd hidden my feelings for you for so long, was gone.

I thought we could always pick up where we left off. I know now I was wrong. We had one moment in time that set us on different paths forever . funny, though, it wasn't that moment, the one I just described. It had happened long before then. I just think neither of us had realized it yet at that point.

We used to talk every week and sign all our letters "love." Where did that go? Why can't we keep that, and move on with our lives too?

I don't know. I wish you the best. I hope you and your "lady" (as you call her) are happy together ... if not, I hope she dies a slow and painful death for hurting you. You don't deserve that.

And sometimes I think of you and smile, and sometimes I want nothing more to call you and be reassured that I *am* a wonderful person -- because someone as wonderful as you can see something worthwhile in me. And sometimes I just miss you, the sound of your voice, your ability to really listen to me, that sense of humor that matched mine so beautifully.

I do wish we could have that friendship back. You were one of the most important people in my life for a very long time, and it's been hard for me to say goodbye to that. But while there was a time when I would have killed for the chance to be with you, I've finally been able to come to terms with the fact that that part of my life is over for good. A closed door, as it were, and one that we both slammed equally hard.

Loving you still, but resigned to having lost you,