U can be friends with all kinds of people for all kinds of reasons. Because both of u like café’ frappe’ n Abhishek Bacchan alike. Because both of u hate flurocent orange. Or because she thinks the kinda guys u like look sad, and u think the kinda guys she likes look gay:). But once in while, u come across that one friendship, that u just cannot reason away. It’s there…just because.
N it’s this friend that I wanna tell u abt. He irritates the hell out of me wen he keeps arguing with me or wen keeps begging me for treats, which is aways. I hate it wen he gives me is I-know-better-than-u looks (they are worse than his I-told-u looks). I hate his mocking laughter, wen he gangs up with others and says, “Excuse her, she’s a bit special”, patting my head. I HATE it wen he pulls my cheeks, and hate it evn more coz I know that he knows that I hate it, but does it all the same.
But I love him for the way he can make me talk…bout anything and everything. N the way he’ll come after me, after I storm out after a fight, knowing full well that before I’ve gone 10 steps, I’d be more miserable than the poor soul I yelled at.
I hate the way he thinks he has me all figured out. And for the fact that for most of it, he has. But I LOVE it when I realize, how wrong he can be at times.
He’s the only guy who’s called me a bitch, on my face, in front of half a dozen people, n meant it too. Still wen he came back, I accepted it. He hardly tried to justify it, or explain y. Heck, he didn’t even offer a proper ‘I’m-sorry’. He is the only guy whom I’ve called a ‘bloody-fucked-up-loser’, on the face, but not in front of half a dozen people. I did offer a I’m-sorry though. N he accepted it. Both us know neither of us will forget any of it, but it’s OK.
I hate him for my best friend fell in love wid him, with less than happy consequences. N for the muddle he’s created with a good number of others. But I respect him for having the courage to stand by the one girl he said he loved, taking a chance that his friends will someday understand. For patiently waiting for that day.
I respect him for the way he can look at people, see what usually goes unnoticed. The way he can see good in everyone, bad in everyone.
I hate him for trying to ‘help’ me, or sympathize with me, wen all I needed him to do was be there, wen all I needed was a friend. N I do hate him for making me think, at one point, that I was in love with him. Love him for the fact that wen I realized I was not, I felt neither resentful, nor relieved. I didn’t feel uncomfortable bout the possibility of being in love, or bout the reality that I was not. Because it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that at some level, he understood what it was like to be me, n made me feel it was not so bad.
He’s hurt me at times, n hurt me good. I’ve hurt him at times, n hurt him good. I’ve thrown him outta my life a zillion times, walked outta his life a zillion times, but he’s come back, every single one of those times.
He’s not my best friend. Probably not even the closest. I’m most definitely not his. He doesn’t make me feel any special. Or even loved, for the matter. He makes me feel like…me. Just me.
N u know what? It ain’t so bad.
N oh! I LOVE the way his ears will turn the most glorious colour of pink when he reads this. And the way he’ll vehemently deny that they have not!