For the next, six months or a year, I was there around her, seeing her, going out, seeing movies. In the beginning she even had a boyfriend, which should of dissuaded me, but that other thing in my brain told me "No, if she still wants to see you like this, there's gotta be something there." And there wasn't, of course, even when she broke up with her boyfriend. There was just a girl who liked my movie and liked me, just not in the way I wanted.
In my brief and mostly disastrous romantic experience, the girls who I have ended up doing something with are often the one's who aren't nice to me -- who don't seem interested at first, the one's whom I'm forced to talk to, or talk to by accident, or whom I'm too drunk to remember manners for. I may have pined over that girl in high school, but it was another girl who unsuspecting to me, stuck her tongue down my throat senior year on the sidewalk in front of the old Joe's.
I've become more aware of this dichotomy, this thing which could be boiled more easily down to the confidence or casualness that I often lose when talking to someone I have some feelings for. But all I can say in my defense, is that it's nice to feel that warm glow of "niceness" for that time. In improv terms, it's a big "yes, and" that unlocks you to be yourself. But ultimately, I prefer truth to beauty, or at least not to waste time. But that's the thing about being an insecure dog.
The other day, I was waiting for a friend to get out of class and feeling depressed by my lack of things planned on a Saturday (silly, but who I am). When I stopped by the training center and saw that my friend was still in class for a while, the girl in the office invited me to sit down and talk. She'd had a bad day and so had I, but she listened to how I felt about the different ways my life could go and how frightening I felt this age was, and she told me how she got there and encouraged me to find a community like the one she was in.