Trying to come clean

Last night, a former lover of my very good friend asked me if she was doing okay; if she was happy. I told him that she was, and he appeared full of simultaneous regret and respectful acceptance. It was one of those never-happens-in-real-life, fabricated-by-Hollywood moments. But I realized that this kid really loved her, even though he had never, and would never, be able to show her that. Everyday for more than year, he wondered how she was, hoped the best for her and wished that he could make her happy, but never bothered to call and say it. And now that he's verbalized it (though obviously not to her), she can feel vindicated. I know that I would feel the same way, and that just as much as she did, I hope for such a moment in my own life.

That kind of hope is foolish, and every angry girl can tell you that.

Addendum: Hardly Missed Connections

Apparently it doesn't matter what I wear, or where I go. I do, in fact, get noticed. Twice in the past three days I've been presented with this lovely request: "Show us your tits!" Maybe some connections are better off missed.