How can someone love you..love you deep and still love you conveniently?

When I was younger, I’m still young, ha, but I guess younger, I had a guy best friend who meant the world to me. He felt like a brother. From my perspective, we treated each other with care. I’m not sure what he’d say, but I felt safe in the bond.

He did everything right as a companion. If I needed something, he was there. He’d even offer his home as a quiet place for me to study when no one else was around. He’d take me to the beach at night, showing me the city from angles I hadn’t seen before. It was beautiful. Once, he drove me to a friend’s house so I could take prom pictures, even though it wasn’t his school, and he didn’t know anyone. He just wanted to be there for me.

As we got older, he started dating. And that’s when something changed.

Whenever he was in a relationship, it felt like he’d put up a wall between us. Suddenly, certain parts of our friendship were off-limits. He'd “fireguard” himself, as if protecting his partner from me, or maybe me from him. I remember thinking I was being overly emotional, that I needed to grow up, be understanding, let him have his moment. After all, real friends don’t let low-level emotions ruin someone else’s chance at connection… right?

But when the relationships ended, he’d always come back, fully. And I began to feel this quiet resentment growing in me. I started wondering: Is this real? Or am I just convenient? A comfort? Do I play a role that fits his narrative, while he rewards me with affection and care like a consolation prize?

Then I asked myself: Do people like me because I give them control? Because I don’t prioritize power in relationships, the scale always tips toward them. But if I’m in control of myself, how can they have control over me? That’s when I realized, it’s in the subtleties. It shows up in the disagreements, in the little dynamics you don’t question until something’s off.

Eventually, we had a falling out. He thought I insulted him, I didn’t. He threw an insult at me, and I snapped. Called him a piece of shit and cut him off. In that moment, I felt powerful. Like I had finally taken my agency back. But afterward, dread crept in. I wanted my friend back. He didn’t come back. And sometimes, I didn’t want him to.

There were moments where I wondered: Who am I without this dynamic? Maybe the discomfort I felt would shape me into someone more like myself, someone not shaped by his vision or the expectations of the people around me.

So I kept moving.

With time, I could admit that what I said was unkind. I apologized. He didn’t. He couldn’t forgive me. And I realized, maybe he never could. Not because he was hurt beyond repair, but because forgiving me would have meant meeting me in truth. And in that truth, he no longer had control over the dynamic. He avoided that truth. Pushed me away. Moved on, comfortably, conveniently.

Now that I’m older, I understand that two things can be true at once. He cared for me. He was genuine. And at the same time, there was a ceiling, a limit to our connection that I was afraid to confront. I saw it most clearly when he got into a relationship. That ceiling started taking shape, and instead of facing it, I internalized it. I decided I was the problem, that I was overthinking. It was easier to believe I was reading into things than to accept that this bond might not be forever. That it couldn’t come with me on the next part of my journey.