Concerning One Of Love's Many Forms And Of My Favorite People
I figured it out today. I am so proud of myself because I finally figured it out and it all makes sense and, best of all, there's no guilt or shame to be had.
See, for several years now I've noticed a trend among people I try to get to know suggesting a search for a big brother. As a child, I always wanted one. And I've had many male friends who, older or younger than me, have in some way portrayed that kind of dependability and protectiveness. But I was still searching.
Then, by fate, I met you. Your first action was to help me in a creative and effective way. Knowing nothing about me, you showed compassion and thoughtfulness, thereby demonstrating the unconditional nature of a big brother's love. As you became my pillar of support, I tried all I could to return the favor, and our friendship grew exponentially.
Moreover, you were always there for me. Whether it was food, music, comfort, bear hugs, or laughter that I needed, you were game for anything. You picked me up at the airport. We went running through a "no trespassing" construction site together and ran from the cop car together. We sang together, in your car, in my apartment, in rehearsal with the group you refused to let me back out of auditioning for. You pretended to be my boyfriend when that creepy guy was hitting on me at homecoming. We even left the dance together, continuing that story. We had tickle wars. We went to the movies together. We went out to eat almost once a week. We frequented one particular restaurant to such an extent that one of the employees asked if I was your girlfriend (to which you adamantly shook your head, of course). You flipped me MMA-style to teach onlookers how it's done (which I admit was fun on several levels). You were there for me that one night that I felt so anxious and worthless I made myself ill. Like someone who truly cares, your reliable companionship has been more important than I can describe.
And part of that worried me. I mean, you're ridiculously attractive and I knew that I loved you. I've admitted considering you, so this shouldn't come as a shock. You weren't interested in me at all (I know because we've discussed it a few times), so there was no danger of Spangle's morals swirling down the drain. But now that I understand, I think I was just confused and truly had nothing to worry about:
A few weeks ago, I did a thought experiment (lovely things, those are), and discovered once and for all that, considered or not, and attractive or not, I wouldn't actually want that. Romance is not the manner in which I love you. *sighs of relief all around -- that would really have messed things up*. Your role is that of the big brother I always wanted, loyal and faithful, ever willing and able to help, and safeguarding me in my times of crisis.
So what you said about returning home and being able to say that you have earned the privilege to serve and protect us is completely, 100% in line.
When I got home from work today, the apartment was dark, silent, still. It felt empty. I picked up the Panda you gave me before you left and hugged it for the next several hours. I put in a movie, one I'd seen in the theater with you. I missed you. And I was finally ok with that, confident in myself that my attachment to you is ethical and wholesome as well as special and close.
And you know the other thing about big brothers? Even if they go off for a while to become military officers, they're yours for life. :)
See, for several years now I've noticed a trend among people I try to get to know suggesting a search for a big brother. As a child, I always wanted one. And I've had many male friends who, older or younger than me, have in some way portrayed that kind of dependability and protectiveness. But I was still searching.
Then, by fate, I met you. Your first action was to help me in a creative and effective way. Knowing nothing about me, you showed compassion and thoughtfulness, thereby demonstrating the unconditional nature of a big brother's love. As you became my pillar of support, I tried all I could to return the favor, and our friendship grew exponentially.
Moreover, you were always there for me. Whether it was food, music, comfort, bear hugs, or laughter that I needed, you were game for anything. You picked me up at the airport. We went running through a "no trespassing" construction site together and ran from the cop car together. We sang together, in your car, in my apartment, in rehearsal with the group you refused to let me back out of auditioning for. You pretended to be my boyfriend when that creepy guy was hitting on me at homecoming. We even left the dance together, continuing that story. We had tickle wars. We went to the movies together. We went out to eat almost once a week. We frequented one particular restaurant to such an extent that one of the employees asked if I was your girlfriend (to which you adamantly shook your head, of course). You flipped me MMA-style to teach onlookers how it's done (which I admit was fun on several levels). You were there for me that one night that I felt so anxious and worthless I made myself ill. Like someone who truly cares, your reliable companionship has been more important than I can describe.
And part of that worried me. I mean, you're ridiculously attractive and I knew that I loved you. I've admitted considering you, so this shouldn't come as a shock. You weren't interested in me at all (I know because we've discussed it a few times), so there was no danger of Spangle's morals swirling down the drain. But now that I understand, I think I was just confused and truly had nothing to worry about:
A few weeks ago, I did a thought experiment (lovely things, those are), and discovered once and for all that, considered or not, and attractive or not, I wouldn't actually want that. Romance is not the manner in which I love you. *sighs of relief all around -- that would really have messed things up*. Your role is that of the big brother I always wanted, loyal and faithful, ever willing and able to help, and safeguarding me in my times of crisis.
So what you said about returning home and being able to say that you have earned the privilege to serve and protect us is completely, 100% in line.
When I got home from work today, the apartment was dark, silent, still. It felt empty. I picked up the Panda you gave me before you left and hugged it for the next several hours. I put in a movie, one I'd seen in the theater with you. I missed you. And I was finally ok with that, confident in myself that my attachment to you is ethical and wholesome as well as special and close.
And you know the other thing about big brothers? Even if they go off for a while to become military officers, they're yours for life. :)