"I need to dream," I told her.
She looked at me and nodded as we strolled down 7th Avenue, that afternoon.
"But what if I don't love you?" she said.
I frowned. "In my dreams you do," I said.
"A dream is just a dream."
"I want it to be real."
"I wants don't always get what they want, though."
We were looking for a coffee shop. Had to be one somewhere down here.
"Sometimes I get mad," I said
"At me?" she asked.
I shook my head. "At myself."
"Your a genius."
We both laughed at that truth.
"I guess I just wanna be happy," I said.
"And you seriously think I would make you happy?" she said.
"I've wanted you for ten years."
"Yes, I know."
"I'm not the one. I'm never gonna be the one for you."
I sighed with frustration. Damn you, I thought, why the crap did I ever go fall in love with you, of all people?
I wondered if she could read my mind. I doubted it.
We finally found a coffee shop and sat towards the back in the half empty place with our lattes, her eyes avoiding mine.
I said, "Would you have loved me if you weren't already married?"
"I don't think so," she said softly.
My God, I thought, what a waste these last ten years have been.
"Maybe we shouldn't see each other any more now," I said.
"You really want that? " she said.
"Your like my brother."
"I don't want to be your brother."
"I know, but..."
"I could scream," I interrupted.
She was silent for a moment, then she put her hand over mine and looked at me. "We still have each other," she said, "It doesn't have to end, us being friends."
I removed my hand from hers. Her touch was to painful knowing she would never be mine. "I'm leaving," I told her.
"Leaving?" she said, her voice suddenly sounding panicky, "Why? I mean, where will you go?"
I shrugged. "They offered me a script writing job in London," I replied, avoiding her gaze.
"London?" she said, loud enough for others to hear., "it's the other side of the world. I would never see you."
"Your crazy," she said, "Your just doing it punish me because I wont leave Johnny for you."
"That's the problem, isn't it?" I said, "It's all about you. What I feel doesn't matter."
"Yes," she said. Then after a pause, "I don't want you to go. Please don't go."
I stood up, ready to leave the coffee shop. "I'm begging," she said, grabbing my hand. I yanked it back and walked out.
I guess I had always been fooling myself that we really ever could be more than just good friends.
It's been years since that day. We haven't spoken since. And maybe we never will. But I'm back, and I still want her, despite everything. I will never stop wanting her till the day I die.
© Mimi Dey, 2017. All rights reserved.