She's my best friend. She's my best friend right now. But oh my god she's so beautiful. She's so beautiful and so gay and I don't care if she's taking a break from dating girls, she's queer all over.
And she loves me. She loves me. We talk all the time - share our days, our histories, our music, our futures, our sex lives (or lack thereof) - it's all fair game. Because, to a certain point, our lives are open. I would tell her anything, and I think she would do the same.
I've asked her about just about everything - everything except the rape. The sexual assault that marked her as a "survivor" and still haunts her. Because I will not put my light through that, not again. It's hard enough when we have sensitivity training and the assholes are over there saying "I mean, it's okay to say I raped that test because I didn't really rape it, because, like, you can't" and she's just shaking next to me, and I want to break faces like nothing else.
She lets me touch her. We cuddle (sometimes), and I know that once we warm to each others' physicalities we will even more.
We'd be beautiful together. I could make her happy. Hell, I would make her happy. Because she's given me so much of her at this point, I know. We'd be bright and shining as the sun.
But she's my best friend. We go on road trips to her home town and share playlists and check out Unitarian churches and Tweet each other adorable little sentiments. I can text her any time of the day and have her to myself, save for when her boyfriend's over. And she introduced him to me - I'm important enough in her life that she wants us to forge a connection.
And we're living together next year. She got so excited when Tara decided we could live with her - she hugged me and wouldn't let go. And every time I mention it she smiles. She calls me her "friend from school" and "we're living together next year," because I'm important enough in her life that I'm part of her future and her past and her present.
She won't marry him, as much as she thinks she might. He has too much in the way - he's a man, for one, and he can never understand her passion for women and everything we are. He's stubborn, he's mopey, he's needy and drags her down. I don't see it lasting.
And then next year, when we're living together and he's in LA...that's when the real test will come. When she breaks up with him.
Who knows when it will be. It certainly won't be at first - they'll have crazy, passionate sex in LA and when she flies back to Pennsylvania they'll Skype every night and whisper platitudes of love until they fall asleep on the phone together, but when she wakes up each morning she'll still be alone. She won't have Ryan every weekend to hold her and to kiss and to love. And he'll mope and she'll get frustrated and sit in her room and cry, because she misses having a hand to hold. And then I'll hold her, I'll cuddle her and braid her hair and kiss her neck while we listen to soft music and watch queer films - and then one day maybe she'll be drunk or I'll be drunk and we'll kiss, and I'll be number sixty-one on her list.
And then she'll realize that oh, there you are - I've been looking for you forever, because I'm here and so much more than he will ever be. I will buy you that fucking picnic basket. I will take you sailing and walking and running and we'll go to plays and movies and maybe even climb a mountain or two, if you feel like it.
She misses dating girls. She misses sweet-lady-kisses and soft skin and bodies and soft lips and pearls, and she misses her tagline of 'queer.' Dying her hair is her way to bring the world's eyes back to her - because even though she's not a lesbian anymore, she can still talk about Theresa and Tori and fly the flags and wear that adorable little hat with the 'love is love' pin all in rainbow.
But I love where I am for right now. I can wait, I'm a patient person. And maybe I'll date someone in the meantime - some queer girl will melt out of the woodwork and we'll have a brief (but passionate) fling and it'll either end very well or very badly, but she'll hold me either way, so when it's her turn we're even.
One day we'll talk about it. I'll be honest - tell her that I want to find someone like her, and she'll say something, and it'll be casual and over, but it'll stay in her head because that's what it does.
And then, one day, the stars will align.
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