Ah, a blank page. An invitation to spill my soul yet again to the universe. Right now, for the first time in a while I come here not to lament about my family, but to talk about my 'best friend'. I've only known a little more than a year now. Like most of my female friends, she started as a crush. Then I told her about it and she said we could be really good friends, but nothing more. I'm sure I've written this story before.

So last night after a period of staleness in our friendship caused by something that was neither of our faults, I went over there and babysat for her. Nothing new or exciting about that. But she was only gone for an hour or so and I stuck around to finish the movie I started. "Hitch" if you're curious. But she came back from the bar, where she went to see her new interest. And she comes back and tells me how wonderful this new guy is, etc. She says she can spend a night with him just kissing and how she just loves to be around him. Great, I'm happy for her, etc. Or so I tell her, and we both almost believe it. We both know that it breaks my heart every time she talks about the new guy.

Maybe she doesn't know quite how hard it is for me every time she goes from miserably single to happily un-single. Maybe she doesn't know quite how much I long for that one kiss that will tell us if we're meant to be. Maybe she doesn't want to know. Or maybe she does know and it breaks her heart a little bit every time she has to be my friend instead of my lover. Not that I would want it most of the time. Most of the time, I'm happy to be her best friend. Most of the time I'm happy that I have that much more love in my life just because she's in it. Most of the time I'm happy to be the constant male figure in her kids life when so many come and go.

Except last night, I wasn't. And I'm sure tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day I'll be happy to be Happily-Ever-After-Sans-Sex. Last night I wasn't. Not the sex part. I may be turning into that asexual person that I wanted to avoid. I saw her in her bra yesterday and I almost didn't flinch. I almost didn't notice her low cut shirt and dancer's body. I almost didn't long.

But I did, and my veil of self delusion was parted for a while. And I faked it. I faked being happy for the fact that she may have found another guy of her dreams. And we both almost believed it.

But I have a confession. The reason I wasn't happy for her isn't because I want anything than the beautiful friendship that we have (well except for the kiss). The reason I wasn't happy or her is because I can't stand to see her hurt again. Every time she breaks up with a guy (and there's been five or six since I've known her) she cries, and angels shouldn't cry. I know she isn't perfect, nobody is. I know she's bitchy and needy and just too blunt sometimes, but she's good. She's a rare example of pure good in this world. She's never selfish, except maybe in holding onto our friendship when it sometimes it's obvious to both of us that it isn't good anymore.

But she's the best friend I've ever had (and I know I don't fill that same role with her, but that's okay too). There's nothing that makes me happier than a good morning text from her, which she's done every morning for the past year practically. Sometimes it wakes up from a hung over stooper, but there's no one I'd rather wake up to.

Funny, that last paragraph was supposed to be the reasons why we can only be friends. The only reason we can't be friends: I don't want to get hurt, she doesn't want to hurt me, I don't want to hurt her, she doesn't want to be hurt.

Or maybe it's more simple than that. Maybe it comes down to her being the hottie with the dancer's body and the smile that has captured many a man's soul, and I'm the fat kid with the big heart that learns to be the best friend so he isn't alone, but will never be good enough for Happily Ever After.

So much for "Hitch". I guess the fat boy only gets the girl in movies. Maybe I should stop living in fairy tails.