Progression

I went because although you never made me feel much of anything, you did make me feel beautiful.

I don't know what I thought would happen. I thought we would get coffee and you'd tell me I was beautiful and then I'd go home and it would be fine and we could be friends. Not the kind of friends that hang out every day but the kind of friends that call every few weeks to check up on each other and make sure no one has any heart attacks or missing limbs.

You were exactly the same, except hardened and slightly more sarcastic, and I asked you to stop pretending to be indifferent. "Four months ago," you said, "I thought we would be sitting here making plans for a trip once you were done with your classes. I didn't think we'd be doing this. I can't be your friend. I'm happy that you're happy, ok? You're independent and you have a job and a car and you go to school and I think you're amazing and your family is incredible and the cookies were fantastic and all I can say is that your boyfriend is lucky. But you don't want me, Ashley, so what do you want me to do?" And what was I supposed to say? I tried changing the subject, but all I could talk about was him, and you told me to stop. I was silent and you jerked the truck around more than necessary. It was a can that never needed opening, and all I could think about was the time we went to Denny's and you ate all of my pancake fritters and you lied on my birthday and lied and lied and lied and lied.

I left feeling uglier than ever, but at least I know now that the answers cannot be found simply because the questions don't make any god damn sense.