I look at these past four years with him, yes I must bring him up because he is very greatly a part of my life. Even if he doesn’t want to be, he is. I made up in my mind three and a half years ago that he was someone with whom I wanted to be. There was something striking about him, something intense, something that genuinely challenged me unlike anyone else had ever been able to do. It was nothing he said or did for that matter. It was the intensity of his eyes; their long thoughtful gaze and the furrowing of his brow, and I gather all of this during one simple card game. The way he thought about every play made that simple card game not so simple anymore. However resolute I was in being a part of his life, here I am three years, ten months and fourteen days from the day I made up my mind, and I am no closer to my goal than the day the race began. Now all I can think is, "All of that time, my time. All for not."
Should I have spent it differently? Should is a word that ought not be included in the English language, because that word in its very nature lends way for regret. Should I have said that? Should I have done this? Should I call him? Or should I wait? If I were too look back and say should I have left him alone three years ago, I am scared to know what my answer would be. I am scared to think, maybe I let some awesome person pass me by because he had my nose open. I am scared and will probably break down the day that I realize, he knows how wonderful of a person I am and that is still not enough for him. At the end of the day, he will want someone else, just as I have wanted him. The only difference is—they at some point—will want each other. I have given my years to someone who couldn’t care less.