Failed Lovers, Lifelong Friends

'What initially attracted you to a person need not be wasted...it can be used to build something new'

- SARAH GUNDLE

“WHAT NOW?” TOM ASKED ME after I broke the news. I think I knew pretty quickly after our first date that we weren't destined for romance, but I really liked him, so we kept seeing each other for a few months. Finally, reality had set in.

“Can we still be friends?” I asked him.

“Let me think about it,” he responded, sounding disappointed. “Maybe someday.”

My heart sank a little. I didn't want him to be my boyfriend, but I didn't want to say goodbye either. I remembered how his wry take on subway riders had made me chortle, how the article about fascism had sent me down an internet rabbit hole, how we jousted playfully about politics.

“I'll miss you,” I said, and meant it.

The end of a romance, even a brief one, is always a little sour. You've opened yourself up and scrolled through your stories until you've arrived at an attractive version of yourself. You've weathered the awkwardness of a first kiss, thrilled to the first flurry of texts and emails, opened yourself to the possibility of connection and then, all too often, that bright promise curdles into a familiar feeling of disappointment.

But what I have found is that what initially attracted you to a person need not be wasted. Like scraps from a lumberyard, it can be salvaged and used to build something new.

I'd been on plenty of first dates with people I never wanted to see again: the disrespectful jerks, the oblivious nerds, the self-absorbed bros. But then there were those I kept seeing because I genuinely enjoyed their company. Though the attraction may have waned, the shared interests, outlooks and senses of humor remained. I respected them. Why, I have often wondered, should the end of romance mean the end of everything?