Burned.

So, Sky called this afternoon, after a very long weekend of silence. Unfortunately, he wasn't dead or severely injured in a car accident. Nope, he was actually avoiding me because he wanted to avoid the fallout that would happen when he told me his wife was moving back into the house. The one he's divorcing. That wife. He knew I would stop talking to him if he told me, thus the four long days of silence.

He still wanted to be friends. And he meant it. He's the only person I've ever known to utter that phrase with sincerity. In pleading his case, he said that I have a lot of male friends, and he's not sure why he couldn't be one of them. Yeah. We aren't friends. We never were, and we certainly aren't going to be in the future. As Marky Mark once said, if you're not in it to win it, then get the hell out. I command you to dance, now feel the vibration. OK, too far. Anyway, you get my gist.

When confronted with my comment that we aren't friends and the point of us talking was because I thought there was potential, he back-pedaled saying that, if we weren't friends, he wasn't sure why we talked so much (every day for about four months). After all, he is married, hasn't seen me in years and we live far away. Um, maybe because I love him, and he asked me if we were a possibility and we approached this whole thing with the idea that, maybe, we'd some day be together. That's why. So, I told him to fuck himself for saying that this was all my fault and I should have known better. True, I should have. But it wasn't just me. Married men who are staying with their wives don't email people they've never met to plan a surprise visit for my birthday. Those men don't talk about the future. Those men don't buy me thoughtful gifts. Those men don't call every day, multiple times a day. They don't talk about moving to the frozen tundra. And so on and so forth.

So, I spent half the day devastated. And angry. And crying.

And then he called back a few hours later. He sounded sheepish and asked if I wanted to hear something "funny." Indeed, I did, as I was in need of a good laugh. Turns out, his wife is not moving in and, in fact, they are no longer reconciling. He acted as though I'd think that was good news. I said it was actually pretty funny. Because now he's left with none. He said he felt stupid. I said that, strangely, I knew exactly how he felt. With quite a bit of sarcasm and irony included. He then launched into the whole "friends" thing and it would be a shame if we no longer talked because he really liked talking to me.

I then told him to fuck himself for suggesting that the onus for my feeling bad was all on me. He couldn't understand why I wouldn't talk to him if "we" were off the table. Not to say "we" is off the table, but, you know, just hypothetically. That's when I pointed out that I'm not 19. I don't talk to ex-boyfriends or hook up with them, as it's a waste of time. I certainly don't entertain the thought of them moving here or driving 1000 miles to see me. What would be the point? I have enough friends. What I'm lacking is mate. And, I'd prefer one that isn't in the form of a mallet I keep hitting myself with over the head. Or a knife I keep stabbing into my heart. Or, well, you get the point.

Right or wrong, I can't be friends with him with the feelings I have for him if he doesn't have the same feelings for me. That makes me a jealous, vindictive person but, you know what, at least I'm honest about it. I can't suppress that and I can't be devastated every time he does this or finds a new girl to fall in love with. Why would I subject myself to that? Would I want to hear about him talk about other girls? I asked what he wanted me to do. Perhaps I could hook him up with my friends, find him a good wife? He didn't appreciate that sentiment either.

Anyway, he was exasperated by the end of that 2nd phone call, saying "I've really made a fucking mess of things." Yes, yes you have. I guarantee you he wishes he would have delayed that first phone call to me, so I would have been none the wiser.

Admittedly, I feel much better after the second conversation. Why? I'm not sure, although I think it has to do with a conversation I had with Sky five years ago. In the middle of a fight, during one of our multiple "on again" periods, he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted him to feel as badly as I did. I don't think he feels as bad as I do. But, I think he's getting an idea of what that might feel like. Or, at least I can hope.

Now, I know what you're all thinking. And, trust me, I'm thinking the same thing. Shame on me for this. Really. But I really wanted to drink the kool-aid and prove that, in fact, it really is just kool-aid. Poison-free and rather enjoyable. I wanted to believe that it's possible to get what I need and what I want, all rolled up into one Dolce & Gabanna wrapped package.

Nope. Turns out sometimes shit is really just shit. No matter how much you want to believe it's really a boyfriend, fly it up here, and spend your 30th birthday with it.

Down with love.