Never Gonna Happen

So, this is not going to work. First of all, I like you. Which means I want you to like me. That's deadly.

I behave like an idiot around you. I say all sorts of witty things in an effort to impress you, which is a bogus thing to do to someone. I mean, who wants to be impressed, really. Suddenly I remember every leitmotif from every obscure film I've ever seen that relates to the theme that we're talking about and all of the projects I'm working on are super interesting and I know everyone and I know about everything and it's just a mess.

I bring up a book I'm reading in an effort to talk about an idea but suddenly it's like, oh, by the way, did you know that I read? Ugh. So pretentious. Or I share some anecdote about when I was in Tokyo and it turns into, Oh, wow, you lived in Tokyo? Unbearably tacky. And you're there being all cool and indulgent and thinking that I sound like an intelligent human when really I just sound like an asshole. Yeah, we can't talk anymore. I'm fairly certain that the more we talk, the less you will like me.

I feel really great when I'm around you. I smile uncontrollably and giggle. Sometimes I even giggle when you're not around. It's undignified. And sloppy.

Plus you obviously know that I like you, so that's embarrassing. How will I hold your interest if I do not maintain some degree of aloofness? Who wants to be with someone who so obviously wants to be with them? This level of vulnerability is just crass on my part. Mortifying. It's inappropriate.

You're confident. Too confident. It makes me nervous. Like maybe you actually know who you are and where you're going in life. So, that's a shame. Definitely not something we have in common.

And sometimes I know that you're looking at me from across the room and maybe I look back at you and maybe we make eye contact and then I'm worried that I'll walk into something. If we don't stop doing that, it's gonna happen. I will walk into something. Guaranteed.

Also you have way too many friends. You're friends with everyone. Everyone likes you. Everyone wants to talk to you all the time. I would say that, as a general note, you are just far too well liked. Probably something you should work on. Plus what if you decided that you liked me and then all your friends liked me but then you decided you didn't like me anymore. No one would like me. Possibly ever again. I'd probably have to move to an entirely different city or something.

You're very handsome. It's off-putting. Lots of people probably think so. That you're handsome. Because you are. Women probably think that. Women that are not me. For probably like, fifteen years, people have been telling you how handsome you are. And who knows what kind of toll that can take on a person.

Plus there's the whole issue of how cool you are. Like, you have a cool job. Two cool jobs. You have probably the two coolest jobs a person can have. It's disgusting.

And you're nice. You smile a lot at a lot of people and people think you're nice. Even my bitchy friend thinks you're nice. People who generally don't like other people seem to like you. You're nice to me. You return my text messages and ask me questions about my life and pay me compliments.

It's an embarrassment of riches, really. Being nice and cool and handsome. Quite frankly it's a bit obscene. You don't need all three. You can be cool and handsome, but then you don't have to be nice. You can be cool and nice, but not handsome. You can be handsome and nice, but not cool. However, all three? I mean, seriously dude, it's overkill. And kind of awkward for everyone around you.

You show up places that I am, maybe even because you know I'm there. You make plans with me. And what if, one of these days, you make plans with me, and then can't follow through? Better to not make plans at all, I think.

It would even seem that, against all odds, you like me. You stay up late with me and spontaneously kiss me on street corners. I have a bruise on my knee from when you lifted me up while we were making out in the bathroom of that bar that neither of us should have been at. I banged my knee on the sink. I kind of like it, this bruise, because it's tangible proof that it happened. Like a photo or a text message.

Yeah, that was fun. Too fun. It can't ever happen again. All signs point to the fact that we would have really good sex and that would obviously just be a travesty.

Plus there's the fact that if we keep hanging out, you will inevitably discover what a disaster of a human I am. Like how I'm messy and narcissistic and immature. And I could never let someone as cool and smart and handsome as you, someone who everyone likes and is really nice and generally just pleasant to be around, yeah, I couldn't let you find out all that stuff about me. You'd tell everyone. Or, worse, you'd be disappointed.

And there's the chance that I would learn you're not as cool and handsome and nice as I currently think. Probably not a risk you want to take, seeing as you're an intelligent human.

I mean, I'm sure we've both been down this road before. It doesn't typically end well. The better people make each other feel, the worse they're capable of making each other feel. And you make me feel pretty great. So yeah, this should never happen. Let's cut it out before we have too much fun and somebody gets hurt.