I Slip Up Every 5 years

5 hours ago, I was compelled by circumstance into telling a girl that I liked her.

No, that's not really true. Because I really DO like her. It sounds as though I was forced; in a way, I was.

I texted the wrong person. I hate my Motorola L6, its got fucky buttons and the sms system is crap. I blame Motorola for my slipup.

Last week I sat in Spinelli's with Laurence over a cuppa, and I let slip that there was this girl I liked. He stared at me for about 3 good seconds, before going, 'Bro, I know you so long but I've never heard you say that before. This must be really serious!'

(Un) fortunately, I think it is. Somewhere along the line an unconscious divide emerged between heart and head: my unspoken vows of abstinence, contrasted with a sneaky burst of attraction for a certain someone.

I'd tried to stay away from her for months already. She snuck back with an innocuous request for dinner ('because I haven't seen you for so long!'). I'd thought I'd forgotten, but the quiet misery I felt on the cab home expresses itself best in a long, heaving sigh.

I swear, no good can possibly come out of this. Logic and reason dictate that people from 2 entirely different spheres, with a sum total of differences more than that of similarities, who have minimal chances of seeing each other regularly... It's a recipe for nothing but a dead-end. Coupled with my (accurate) reading of her as someone utterly uninterested in settling down? I mean, shit! Fuck! This is madness, this is Sparta!

She was amused because I kept stammering and going about in circles (it's a habit I have when telling people things which are better kept secret... and for Chrissakes its not as if I've had plenty of practice). Other than that, it was like any other story I've told: good buildup of anticipation, decently paced out, garnished with a good joke here and there. We didn't speak about it afterwards, because aww hell - what's there to say?

It's funny. It feels as though nothing has changed. Like telling the lamppost that you've secretly appreciated its light each and every time you've waited for a cab during the wee hours - it's still shining the way it does day in and day out, but the metal remains cool to the touch and it's obviously ignorant of your words.

I don't feel fucked. It feels as though nothing's changed... and we both know it. I guess it feels kinda silly, then.

I hate Motorola phones. Seriously.