The other day I had an online conversation with Penn while my boyfriend was at school. I logged onto my IM hoping that a couple of my old friends were online, and coincidentally he happened to log in too, so...curious of how he has been doing, I greeted him. Penn was the secret story of my life. During the day I was an ordinary girl living an energetic life. I went to school, I worked, I hung out with friends and went to movies and parties, but at the end of each day, I'd come home and get online. Penn would be on already, waiting for me, and we'd chat for hours sharing everything...well, almost everything (because frequent phone calls were too suspicious). Sometimes when I was lucky, I'd get a phone call from him while he was driving somewhere, and he'd tell me how great it is to hear my voice and how much he missed me. It was always a short conversation and he'd do all the talking while I'd stop everything I did to listen because the only thing I could do was smile.

Just imagine, a six minute conversation, maybe twice a week, was bliss for me.

This was the story of my life, my distant and secret love affair with a married man. I devoted almost five years to chatting the nights away with him, and from knowing, to hoping, then wishing, that he'd one day be just mines which, of course, never happened. I loved him so much, and it might be because I knew deep down inside that he could never truly be mines, but when I dreamt of my night in shinning armor, it was him that I imagined.

So when I talked with Penn the other day, I was just reminded of the strong feelings I had for him, and of all the good times. But ironically he was reminded of the complete opposite because he spoke of how bad he was to me, neglecting to mention that he was married and all, before we got too attached to each other. And at the very end of our emotional love affair, he ended up getting a divorce and I ended up finding someone new (who I love and currently live with). But after talking to him I feel such a great sense of loss, like I'm missing out on something great by finding someone new and healthy for me. I guess I just really miss the connection we had, and how deep our relationship was because we didn't have a physical element. It's a connection that I know I will never be able to have with my boyfriend and it makes me really sad because I can't share everything with my boyfriend, I've tried but he just isn't that sentimental. I feel like my boyfriend and I have a physically based relationship, and our ability to relate to each other is limited.

So there is a rift inside me, and for the last few days I've been wondering why I feel so confused. I love both of them and I don't believe that I can let one go. I mean, in reality I have, I may talk to Penn but I don't confide in him anymore...I've moved on pas him, but there will always be apart of me that loves him and aches for him. Yet I love my boyfriend too, and I can't imagine a life without him.

"But I'm not saying anything", he'd tell me. And on the other-side of the line, approximately 600 miles away,  I'd just smile, "I know;" it's the best way I could describe it-- what I'm doing. Do you ever have those instances when you want to talk to someone, but don't have anything to say? It's as if all the words have been exhausted, yet the desire to connect still there. He tells me I'm crazy for listening to his silence, but even crazy saves me from my fantasized humiliation. I could picture it so clearly, picture how he'd burst out laughing the moment I explain to him that I'm not just listening, that if I breath slowly and just feel, it feels almost like those times when I'd sit idly beside him while he's playing games, or when we're watching a movie and we're so focused on the screen, we don't notice how we're practically sitting on top of each other. I don't want him to be burdened by how it seems almost desperate that my desire has transcended the physical. And my whole being can be content on the idea of his presence sharing a simple phone call with me. But it is one of my mottos, take what you can. I'm taking from the silence, enjoying his faint breathing muffle the receiver. I love talking to him, but not more than being with him. Who knows what I'd trade to be with him, or feel like I am with him. Some times talking seems to be so taxing, it amplifies the distance like we're trying to make up for the closure. And if it were up to me, I'd sit here all day and listen.

Penn and I had gotten into a conversation about Don, my roommate and former best friend. I had mentioned that Don was sleeping and suffering from a blood clot in is abdominal.


"You should go and try to see if there's anything you can do for him," Penn told me.

"There is nothing that I can do for him."

"There's always something more that you can do."

"There is nothing more that I can do... What? I'm a bad friend aren't I?" I asked.

"Yes you are," he replied, "and at this rate you'll be a bad wife too."

"Well... that's what you think." I said a bit hurt, "I guess it's a good thing you have a good wife then."

Penn and I have a delicate friendship. We have feelings for each other that transcends the conventional and shouldn't exist. He is married and has a beautiful three-year-old son named Erik. His wife, Ollie, knows vaguely about our friendship and has asked me numerous times to stop contacting her husband. Although I know that I should honor the request of his wife, I could never do it, not unless he wanted me to.

"This isn't about me," he said.

"Then what is it about?" I asked probingly, "You brought up how insufficient I would be at being a wife."

"Never mind."

"You can't say never mind every time you want to dodge a topic."

"You just don't get it. I can't be there for you. You should talk to Don and be better to him," he said, once again.

"I know that you can't be there for me. I'm not asking you to, it's you who don't get it."

"Then tell me," Penn demanded.

"About what?" I asked.

"About what I don't get."

"That Don and I are not compatible," I typed irritably, "I've told you so many times."

"Some things in life are not doable but worth trying."

"I'm not opt to try."

"You haven't put much thought to what I said have you?"

Don was my best friend. All through high school he was there for me along with Serenity, another dear friend. The three of us were inseparable; always getting into trouble with our late nights out. In August Don and I moved out together to Florida where we now live in a one bedroom apartment. Our relationship has since gone sour, and I relayed my frustrations and concerns to Penn, my one confidante. Penn suggested that Don and I get together so that physical closure would mend our differences. What Penn doesn't get is that his suggestion is simply revolting for me, hands down.

"Oh, I have and my answer's the same," I rebuked, "Would you like to hear what I have to say about this matter though?"

"No. Not until you're less selfish."

"What makes me selfish?" I inquired wearily.

"Think about how you started and how you got to where you are."

"Oh, right. I only focus on my own happiness," I said hoping to sound sarcastic.

"I know it sounds like I'm against you but I'm just being fair. I base my judgement on the facts that I know."

The facts that he know does not include my emotions. I feel like he always listens to me half-heartily. When he does listen, he's too busy trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind the things I tell him that he never sees what is hidden in plain sight: my plea for assurance.

"Well I guess you'll never hear my story then."