Love is a funny thing. Sometimes it's obvious and slaps you in the face with its oversized carny like hand. Mostly, it hides in plain sight because it knows that I'm clearly to stupid to see it, or my attention was stolen by a pack of donuts and a tub of ice cream. Mostly.
Many years ago I had what could have been love, but I was blinded by an intense case of ambition and a weird rash on the bottom of my foot that only appeared on Wednesdays.
There was a girl I met through a sport I was doing at the time, and we hit it off straight away. We quickly became the best of friends, even though we lived 3 hours apart. Our nights were spent on the phone to each other for hours because Optus had free time between 8pm and 12am for 20 minutes. Oh, how we abused that service like a fat kid hitting an all you can eat buffet.
We would regularly visit each other when we could gather the money for a bus trip, watch movies, and do that regular shit that people with social lives do. All the while I secretly held feelings that I kept inside, like a tiny little rabid bluebird.
Sadly we drifted apart. We still kept in contact, but contact was few and far between. And it wasn't until a few years later that I found out that she had the same feelings for me, that I did for her. Call it loneliness, or a penchant for making myself depressed, but I could kick myself for missing this opportunity. But one can not live in the past, otherwise one cannot have a future.