Unrequited love. It was such a major bummer and totally consuming. Thinking about a person constantly, knowing full well they’re not thinking about you but still hoping that they are. Constantly checking your phone and e-mails hoping for a message, going to write one and deleting it. Re-writing it. Sending it. Regretting it. Pretending a text sent was meant for someone else and then feeling pathetic. Dreaming of the object of your desire and crying in frustration at the fruitlessness of these dreams. Buying new underwear every time you meet them. Buying tickets to see bands they like. Making mix cds of ‘your’ favourite songs. Having an imaginary relationship, wedding, honeymoon, children, even arguments and make-up sex. Then realising what a sad individual you are. Hoping one day you’ll get over it, meet someone even better. But always wondering what might have been...
This was the story of me and Joe and had been since the very first day I had met him one summer working as a lifeguard. He was handsome, had a gorgeous body, dark hair, suntan and hint of an Australian accent from his year spent travelling. At 20 I had spent my summer being teased, thrown in the sea, clinging on for dear life to his wet t-shirt on the boat and loving every second of attention he bestowed on me. I had, of course, been the girlfriend of Taylor of the time but as Joe was just a 'friend' we’d all hung out with Taylor in blissful ignorance.
This underlying sexual tension had carried on for a couple of years until one fateful night, when things had well and truly started to come unstuck with Taylor, I got horrendously drunk with Joe, we’d ended at his parents’ place at 4am drinking whiskey and, consequently, looking at his travelling photos in his room and, eventually, naked.
Joe hadn’t called me the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that. I had been devastated and angry with myself. I vowed to never be treated like that again. Until the next time.