Truth.

"Someday, you will miss today."

Two Points for Honesty.

Here's the thing about regrets: I try not to have them. I credit this belief to the whole, "Well, if it's what you wanted at one point..." mixed with the ever-cheesy "Never regret something that once made you smile" and topped all off with something along the lines of "What would life be if you wished you could take back everything you'd ever done?" and so on. Essentially, my motto is do what makes you happy, and don't look back.

That being said, I think I've made a huge mistake.

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Last summer was one of the best I can remember, thanks in a large way to one specific, special thing. Let's call it the Reason, as in, the Reason My Summer Was Great.

I'm not sure how it started, but in the hot, lazy days of summer vacation, the Reason became my best friend. He was the one person I always wanted to hang out with, to talk to, to be with. When we were together, I was happy. And I didn't know what that meant - I only knew that I liked it.

It took me about half the summer to admit to myself what I had tried to ignore: I liked the Reason. I secretly built up hopes in my head that I refused to let to the outside world, but they already had their guesses: my family commented on the amount of time we spent together; my friends exchanged eyebrow raises when they asked me who I was on the phone with; even strangers, saddled next to me on public transportation, poked fun at our constant communication. I'll admit it: I liked it. It made me feel, for a moment, that this all just wasn't in my head after all.

It took me another few weeks to come to the conclusion that, despite what my family and my friends and even my dreams said, the Reason and I weren't on the same page. And even if we were; even if I had grown a pair and told him; even if anything, anything at all, was possible; it wouldn't work. It was stupid. It was against all the rules I've trained myself to follow. PlayRadioPlay! couldn't have said it better: "Four months, you'll be in college far away: and that's all I have to say." Granted, although it wasn't what I necessarily wanted to hear, forcing myself to this realization wasn't the end of the world: he was still my best friend, and I still loved hanging out; and that was enough.

Four months, you'll be in college far away,

and that's all I have to say.

Fast forward. I made a decision. I didn't, for some stupid, selfish reason, tell my best friend. And just like that: everything changed.

"Every choice maybe has some intended results and always unintended results."

I told myself that that wasn't true. I pushed myself into thinking that if I worked hard enough, I could save us. I told the Reason the truth: that he was my best friend, the only constant in my life, the one person I had counted on for the past year and a half. I told him that he couldn't get rid of me that easily; that if he thought our friendship had peaked, he was wrong. The one thing I didn't tell him was the only thing I wanted to, a secret I'd kept locked away since the summer: but I couldn't. I had made a choice.

"Every choice maybe has some intended results and always unintended results."

At first, I didn't believe him when he said that. Sure, a choice is like throwing a rock into a pond - it splashes, causes ever-reaching ripples, creates chaos. But surely one, tiny decision couldn't ruin the best thing I'd ever had, right?

Wrong. Every choice maybe has some intended results and always unintended results. I can't control the direction the Earth spins or the magnitude of the stars or the speed of a charging rhinoceros - just like I couldn't control our relationship in the aftermath of my decision. As much as it pained me to admit it, I had been wrong.

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It isn't the same anymore. I blame myself for that: not only because of what I did do, but because of what I didn't. He'll always be my best friend, but I'm not sure what, if anything, I'll always be to him. And (two points for honesty here), I do regret that.

Give me an adventure.

God knows I need it.

Conflicted?

I am.

When I became The Listener,

I lost my way of speech.