Love of my Year

It's about that time of the year when the circle closes and I'm back
where I started.
Stuck in a corner. Itching.
Wondering what the hell I did to get here. It's been two years since I
fell in love for the first time.
And tomorrow I will go to the beach where it all started, with the
friend who won the game, if you call the whole does-he
doesn't-he-yes-oh-no-he-likes-her-more ordeal a game. I'm not bitter.
Just a little sad.
If this was Hollywood, I would say I am grateful for the heartache and
pain, but I'm not.But if I had to do it all over again I would: the sad
part is that he was worth it. He was the most beautiful thing I have
ever loved, and now I'm spoiled. The rest just pale in his
memory.

She's still here, still my friend, despite all the hell she's put me through. Whenever I fall into self-doubt, hating myself for being too
harsh and unforgiving, she is my testament that I am capable of loving
.

Why did I put up with it? Why didn't I bitch-slap her and yell "Stop
telling me how much he loves you, bitch"?

Because oddly enough she was there for me. She was there, even when I broke her heart about the kiss that shouldn't have happened. Others would have walked, yelled, or thrown milkshakes in my face, but she just swallowed, lied through her teeth and stayed.

That's why I did the same for her. Because others did walk, friends I
never doubted, when wrong words were spoken, calls were never made, and pride was never swallowed.

So in a way, a very ironic and cheap way, she is the friend who loved me enough to stay. And when I think about the pain we put each other through, and the lies we told to save our friendship, I really do believe that she is the love of my year.