All we need is love

The other day, my good friend Mike turned 21. He called me, of course, in his newly legal drunken stupor, which I didn't expect. I should have known better. As I walked along the calm Bloomington sidewalk, I was excited to see his name on my cell phone's caller ID. We had toyed with the idea of dating back when he was toying with anything he could snort up his nose. It was a tumultuous relationship to say the least, one that left me emotionally drained and probably scarred for life. \nAs I listened to him stammer on about his mediocre 21st with the guys from work, he said something that threw me for a loop. I wasn't expecting it, but there it was, way out of left field during the World Series. "I miss you," he said, "and I love you."\nThere it was -- the phrase every single, hopelessly romantic gay man yearns to hear, but I was a bit thrown by the comment. I knew he was drunk and probably high on the euphoria of swiftly becoming legal at the turn of the minute hand, but could I have been wrong about this one? Or was I just fantasizing about the relationship I wanted but knew I could never have with Mike? Maybe he had come around, and with his newly-found 21 year old wisdom he would see that -- now clean from the drugs and saturated with alcohol -- he had missed the best thing never to happen to him. Or maybe I was just projecting the kind of strong heroism on a friend that I knew would never be more than that. Mike was a smart, sexy guy who had had trouble dealing with life last semester. Maybe he was reformed and now willing to admit his faults to me, and even more amazing, willing to admit he was in love with me. Had I thrown in the towel and drawn the line too soon? \nI've always been that guy who is completely a proponent of dating friends. Friends are people you know and love dearly -- they are honest, upfront, and they never give you their fake "dating persona" they would if you were, in fact, dating. To me, having a myriad of friends from across the board, your pals are like the best dating pool. You befriend someone, get to know him very well, and only then can you truly garner enough info to know that he is the one for you. On the other hand, there's the dreaded FRIENDSHIP LINE *insert scary, dramatic music here* that, once established, may just be impossible to cross. \nThat line, to me, is like a shield. It makes perfect sense because, as I said, once he's my friend and I can mock-date him to see if he's a good fit. So by the time we are friends, he's totally into me but can't see me as anything more -- especially not in a sexual way, god forbid. And if he does, well then, he'll just have to tell me something like, "You're a really great guy, blah blah blah, I don't want to ruin what we have, yadda yadda yadda…" You get the point. What a messed up strategy I have. Maybe sometimes we draw our own mark, just to miss it. I was willing to do so with Mike, and though I know we never could have made it as a couple, I was completely happy being just his friend. \nI'm happy in general, but I just can't shake this feeling of someone to love me more than anything. I've had to fight my entire life to be recognized as important and equal because I'm gay; I can handle rejection because I've handled worse. But to never be wanted, to always take a back seat on the other side of the friendship line, and to not be loved like I want just gets to be too much on some of these chilly Autumn evenings. When you peel away all the labels and stereotypes caked on by our culture, it's really as simple as that. Gay, straight, or whatever, we all just want love.