I spend probably 5/7 nights a week talking to my boyfriend on the phone after taking a shower and snuggling into bed. These phone calls are pretty extensive—at least an hour or two long—and always random, but always fun. The whole concept of having a boyfriend is unusual to me, still, because in my mind I guess it hasn’t fully computed that he’s actually my boyfriend. And all this sounds really stereotypical and sappy, but it isn’t. There’s more to the statements than their face value.
This guy is my best friend—one of them—and I can tell him anything and do anything with him without worrying that I’ll be judged or laughed at or made fun of. I can show him stupid stuff I find on Tumblr and talk about my dreams and ask deep philosophical questions, and he’ll consider everything I say with absolute respect and sincerity. He’s my boyfriend? (Question marks abound.) But mostly he’s just my best friend…who I happen to be able to cuddle with and kiss and who gives really great hugs. It’s the sort of crossing over and crossing out that seems weird to my friends, but couldn’t be more perfect for me. I always thought the greatest relationship would be with an “elevated best friend”—it’s all of the awesome and none of the awkward. Of course, I never thought it could happen to me. Always other people, though. I have always and will always have faith that amazing things will happen to other people, but I’ve never had that sort of faith in myself. And then of course like a Lifetime movie fate had to be like NOPE and slap me across the face. Metaphorically. Probably because I was reaching the threshold of acceptable angst levels at the time and needed a reality check.
Can’t say it was unwelcome, though! ★彡