A Picky Mind

I have a best friend.

She means the world to me.

I remember how confident she was.

It balanced my quietness.

And I didn’t mind it at all.

I remember how we had to get to school earlier than others.
We both had parents that were teachers.

And we stayed after school later than everyone else too.

So we kept each other company.

I still think of the time I had to leave her.

She was crying out in the hallway.

And I thought I would’ve been fine with moving.

Until I saw her face.

I was fine in the car.

I was fine when we moved my things into my new room.

I was fine when I went out with my family for dinner.

But that night?

I think that was the first time I let myself cry in a while.

Over the years we would spend more time together.

I would visit her and her family.

Her parents welcomed me as their own.

It was nice to get away somewhere.

I remember when she started dating someone.

She told me,

“I’m surprised it wasn’t you who found someone first.”

I laughed at that.

I told her,

“I’m too picky.”

And she laughed in return.

She knew it was true and yet still asked,

“Why?”

And I replied,

“Because I don’t want to have to pick again.”

We were both young.

And she was really happy.

There’s a good chance that they might last.

I could tell.

There’s a look in his eyes whenever he even speaks with her.

You can tell that he adores her.

And I’m so glad.

I was never one to be jealous of them.

Never once was I jealous when I watched other couples.

Even as I stood at events or dances alone.

Because if someone really knew me.

They would know that I don’t know how to dance.

Or they would know that-

I would rather sit in the corner and read a book.

She always knew that.

Course she was similar to me in that way.

My best friend and I used to share books.

But I always read more than she did.

Faster too.

It was a competition that I would always win.

But now I’ll read these novels.

Where the main character will fall in love.

The same story over and over again.

It gets old.

Too perfect,

Too simple.

I wanted something real.

But I knew I would never experience that.

No matter how much I wanted it.

So I began to write.

My own characters.

Over and over again.

Same names, 

New stories.

June and Dante.

Both having the life I could never have.

Having each other. 

Until something changed.

I was calling my best friend.

Telling her about some new friends I’ve made.

And I skipped over one.

One that I particularly avoided.

And she asked about him.

I didn’t have much to say.

I wasn’t that impressed.

But she just sort of gave me a look.

I ignored that look until I finally gave him a chance.

He wasn’t as bad as I had thought previously.

And I had the chance to ditch him.

To go hang out with someone else.

But for some reason I stayed.

And I stayed for a longer time than I had planned.

Maybe it was my way of being picky. 

Because in some sort of way.

People like him had to earn my attention.

Especially men, cause I trusted them the least.

And he did..

Without even knowing, or trying for that matter.

Now I’m glad that I was picky.