It felt like my heart was going to explode. Not in an over-whelming-happy sort of way, but in a my-heart-is-taking-in-too-much-blood-and-not-letting-any-of-it-out kind of way. It was a devastatingly slow sort of feeling that creeps up on you after feeling relieved. Let me take you back, so you can understand.
Have you ever had a crush on someone? That someone being a guy you know you can’t date? Well, I have. I have liked him for over six months now; those months being some of the worst and best moments of my life. I would feel amazing, and then be struck down by the sheer disappointment. That should have given me some foresight into my future. You may ask who could be so special as to permit such agony into a fragile soul, like mine. I will tell you; someone who is smart, not in an obvious way, but in a witty way, someone who is funny, and understands my dry humor, someone who is beautiful, tall, and not too perfect. Someone who is sweet, comfortable, and in one word: great. You could say that it was a little more than a crush.
However, what would keep us apart? In another word: family. My brother and he were very best friends. They were friends in high school, and then were roommates in college. I understood why it would have been problematic to date him. We could have broken up, which would be awkward. He could have hurt me which would have gotten my brother’s protectiveness to spike. I could have hurt him which would end their relationship. I understood the risks, and consequences, and I told myself not to go there. But I couldn’t help it.
I never would have acted on it; I’m not like that. I dream, and wish, and hope, and fantasize. So, that’s what I did. I complained to my friends, to my sister, and to myself, when no one else would listen. I debated the signs he gave me; did he mean to hug me a little longer, or what was the meaning behind what he just said? I wrote thousands of texts to send him, telling him my feelings for him, and then deleting them, and hoping he would never figure out how pathetic I was. I memorized speeches, letters, and thoughts about him, to him, and for him. When I saw him on the weekend he was home, I smiled, and tried to act normal. I tried to hide my blushes, and not be obvious. Sometimes people weren’t fooled, but no one ever said anything.
My confidants were split in their thoughts. Some believed I should move one; if he liked me back he would have made a move by now. Others were more hopeful; tell him you like him, go from there, and even if he doesn’t like you back, you’ll be able to move on. Sadly, no one was on my side; wanting to continue liking him from afar, too cowardly to tell him, but to headstrong to let him go.
By early January, I knew that what I felt couldn’t be classified as a crush anymore, and planned on telling him when we got a minute alone. However, that minute never came, and as I went to best friend’s house, I felt plainly morose. We sat together, her trying to convince me to text him, me trying to distract her with her own boy problems. Her insistence won in the end, and slowly I typed a text from the heart. I never intended on sending it, just to let my feelings out. After she read and approved it, we left the subject alone. Then some hours later after watching a vaguely depressing, and entirely moving movie, I pulled out my cell phone. We both stared at it for a few minutes, while my friend was continuously threatening me that she would send it herself if I didn’t. I contradicted her, and she pressed the send button before I could blink. I ended up wrestling the phone out of her hands and hitting cancel before anything sent. I laughed at her, and all was forgotten again for a small time. Then with some nerve I pulled the phone out again, and had my finger over the send button. The finger itself was unwilling to move. I tried considerably to move it, but I just couldn’t. My friend told me I didn’t have to, and that she was only kidding, but in that instance, I knew I wasn’t. My thumb pressed down hard, and it began to send.

My heart rate flew, and I pressed cancel, as soon as I could move again, and thankfully it did. My friend and I both sighed, calm for a moment, before heading downstairs, unable to stay still. We were laughing and talking when it happened. My phone vibrated in my hand, and all I had to do was look at the name before my heart went into immeasurable shock. My friend, grabbed my hand, trying to pry the phone from it, but, for once, I was stronger, and as if on automatic ran up the stairs to couch. I knew she was speaking to me trying to calm me, but it didn’t help at all. I couldn’t feel anything at all, terrified as I was. I pulled the message up again, and this time read more than the name. My body relaxed, and no feeling other than a weight being lifted filled me.
His response was sweet, and heartfelt. He was kind in telling me that I would be someone he would talk to had I not been younger (two and a half years), or his best friend’s sister. I wrote confirming the last thought, and he was quick to reply. He agreed, and told me he had been in the situation before, and knew that these things shouldn’t affect our friendship. I was happily calm, and actually under-whelmed by this revelation. Obviously nothing was fixed, I knew that, and he could very well have been underhandedly telling me there wasn’t a chance, but I felt fine; no heartbreak, not even sadness. Through the rest of the night my friend constantly was watching me, I knew, but I ignored it. I didn’t understand it, but I was actually relieved at the lack of drama.
The next morning, I woke before she did, and reread my messages. The feeling of the night before was still there, a little duller perhaps but, still mostly fine. When I was picked up at noon, the feeling was completely gone. There was something else in its place; a feeling like I couldn’t breathe; a feeling like my lungs were being squished in my chest. I couldn’t understand it. I felt like I was on the verge of an anxiety attack. My mind was racing and pounding, and my heart as well. I tried to ignore it, and push it off as a sinus headache. By the time I reached my house later, though, and the rest of my family present, I couldn’t really control it. I didn’t mean to do anything I did. My eyes would fill with tears at random points, my head was pounding, I couldn’t smile when my brother tried to make me laugh, and when my sister looked over at me she asked what was wrong. I was on the verge of blowing up, but I tried to smile and whisper headache. We were debating who would take my brother back to school, and I, of course, wanted to go. I wanted to see him; I felt like I needed to, at least to judge how far I could go in acting normal. Of course, I couldn’t exactly say that though, so I waited quietly, trying to remain quiet, and stop my headache. I tried not to think of him, I really did, but he kept seeping through into my thought. I ended up not going, and for that, a part of me is very much grateful. If I felt like I was going to cry just at the thought of seeing him, what would I do at actually seeing him?
My heart feels like it is going to explode; not in an over-whelming-happy sort of way, but in a my-heart-is-taking-in-too-much-blood-and-not-letting-any-of-it-out kind of way. My head is racing, my thoughts along with it, and my mouth tries to pull up in a smile.