I invited you over to say goodbye.
You wanted to see me again; you didn't know anything was different, that anything had changed. I didn't have the strength to tell you. My carefully planned casual speech jumbled in my mind when you showed up and smiled that disarming smile.
We talked, we laughed, we flirted as we had always done, but I drew back from what I so heatedly wanted to do: to lean close to you, to smooth my hand up your arm, to run my fingers through your hair. I'm sure I couldn't keep that look out of my eyes, watching you as you leaned forward, displaying yourself without knowing it... that look that said very clearly how completely delicious you appeared to me.
I am not strong-willed.
The conversation steered, as always, to flirtatious comments that could not be flippantly turned aside with a laugh or a smile. I found myself kissing you without knowing quite how it happened, and it became some hours of a burning, barely restrained passion. Had there not been another person in the house (sleeping, as it was the wee hours of the morning), I fully believe we would have gone places I might later regret.
Regret, because I don't know how you see such things. I think I am starting to love you - or perhaps I am blinded by lust, because it isn't necessarily a happily-ever-after sort of love. I do not deny being a selfish person, but somehow it would feel wrong to take advantage of a relationship that.. truthfully.. isn't a relationship. You are a friend, albeit a friend I find appealing and sexy and mysteriously irresistible. We share common interests and not a few personality traits, we even look somewhat alike. And yet... I'm not even sure.
I truly believe that if I had not already given my heart to another, I would not have this torn feeling. I can't have both of you, although I selfishly wish I could.
But I can't leave my heart behind.
Once again I've complicated matters for myself. Somehow I will fix this... it's only a matter of kicking myself in the ass until I do it.