She called me tonight. We spoke briefly, quietly, and at the end we were both crying again.

I think the possibility of friendship is strong. Neither of us can imagine a life completely devoid of the other.

For once I was glad I'm so inarticulate on the phone with her. Because I wanted very badly to tell her that it hurts. It hurts like nothing I've ever experienced, and I know it's going to keep on hurting for a long time. I wanted to tell her that I know a thing or two about how a jump in self-confidence and self-esteem can make you do silly things, even stupid things. I wanted to tell her that when you test the waters of singlehood, you will often find them too cold and murky for swimming--and there are so many sharks. I wanted to tell her that life is not like it is in "Sex in the City." I wanted to tell her that I know these things because I found them out the hard way. Most of all, I wanted to tell her that I'd wait for her until she found them out too, no matter how long it took.

But I didn't, couldn't, won't say those things. Her life is hers to lead, her experience hers to gain--and I refuse to subject my life to the slavery of waiting for a reconciliation that may never happen, the constant humiliation of pining for that which can never be regained, the unspoken but palpable awkwardness of unrequited love. If I do that, how can I ever be any kind of true friend to her? How can I ever move on?