"I'm sorry for being the worst bestfriend ya... I really am."

Those are the words I texted him a few minutes ago.

Yeah, I finally got to talk to him about this whole “me-loving-him-and-he's-not-but-hey-we're-cool-because-we're-bestfriends” crap...

and I gotta say that went perfectly well as I thought it would: me struggling to explain my damn complicated feelings to the oblivious him.

...okay, maybe he’s not so oblivious. But I was struggling back then, so yeah...

I told him I don’t blame him for anything. This isn’t anybody’s fault. If there’s anyone to blame, that would be myself and no one else.

I didn’t tell him that because I don’t want him to be angry, nor because I tried to sugar-coated my words, but I finally realized that: hey, it’s true.

It’s not his fault that I love him and he doesn’t love me in return.

It’s not his fault that I spent many nights crying over this damn hanging relationship we’ve buried ourselves in.

It’s not his fault. It’s not.

I used to blame him for everything.

...because really, how can I blame him when the only one who falls is me?

Him: I already gave you my answer, right?

Me: This isn’t a question. This is a statement.

Him: ok. So what should I do? You want to stop being friends?

Me: No. But I need time. I need time to neutralize everything.

So that’s pretty much everything. I told him that I have to retreat for a while because I really don’t want to see myself getting mad at him. I never want to treat him wrong.

I should’ve known that when you committ yourself in a friendship with the opposite sex, you gotta leave all the love stuff behind... because in some cases, love works. But most of the time, love and friendship is a bad combo.

...I didn’t. That’s why I’m a bad bestfriend, ladies and gentlemen.

P.S.: Honestly, 10, I don’t want to stop being friends with you. I just want to stop loving you, that’s all.