I love Haley.

December 27, 2001 will always be a special day in my life. Before that day, Haley had only been a minor background character in my life, a casual friend who I'd known for three years yet had never been inside my house. That night two days after Christmas changed how we saw each other and how important we would become in each other's lives.

Today, I feel blessed for having Haley as a presence in my life, not to mention knowing she wants me in her life. As much as I care about Haley, as strongly as we connected, as good a person she is... she is not the girl with which I am supposed to share a romantic, loving bond. I am not in love with her, I no longer lust for her in the same way (I won't lie and say I'm not attracted to her in that way at all. I mean, I am a guy, and those urges don't terminate at the snap of a finger), and I do not want her as my girlfriend.

Two weeks ago, a moonlit beach created an aura of passion and serene warmth for me and Haley. We exchanged hearts and would explore our honest feelings about our relationship. Because Haley was packing her bags for a church group trip to Panama City, we did some soul-searching individually and independently. Without communicating and seeing Haley, my mind scrambled and boggled over what I felt and wanted with Haley. My indecisiveness allowed me to delay a final verdict because I had previously sworn that as long as I wasn't sure I didn't want Haley as my girlfriend, I would maintain a dedication and effort toward her for the rest of summer.

My attitude changed, however, when I began to feel rejection on a daily basis. When Haley returned from her trip, we had not only lost the momentum from our beach vacation, but we had digressed and lost our vibes of affection. I continually called Haley in attempts to share time together and possibly retain a romantic interest. We never shared these moments because Haley always provided a reason to not see me: some legit, others questionable, a few absurd.

You must understand one thing about me: I despise ambiguity in a relationship. When will I see her again? What will she say tomorrow when I invite her to lunch? Why is she blowing me off? Where do I stand with her? Will this relationship work? None of these questions delivered a clear-cut answer, and every night of this past week, I'd spin the wheel of misfortune, randomly pause on one of the questions, and be plauged with vomiting butterflies in my stomach--- no doubt assisted by my kidney stones--- that kept me restless through the night.

Haley and I had previously reserved the possibility of watching a movie together Saturday night. That evening, the delicate southern accent on the other end of the phone informed me that rather than renting a movie with me, she would go shopping with her mom for all of Saturday night. I tried to hide the hurt and agitation while asking her to call me when she returned from shopping. Haley understood by my tone that this would not be one of our everyday talks, and she would not dare blow me off this time.

By her actions, I knew Haley could not possibly be seeking a romantic relationship with me. Something had happened while she was gone, and we weren't openning our hearts to each other like we should have been. I arrived at the revelation that I had grown weary of our relationship and would rather just be her friend rather than boyfriend. I slowly unwrapped my white towel to throw into the ring. I began preparing the abandonment of my feelings for Haley and surrenduring any further attempts to rekindle what I once had. My submission towel stayed frozen to the palm of my hand. Before I could throw in the towel, I had to force Haley to explain to me why she suddenly rejected my invites and see if I had any good reason to want to be more than friends.

My phone rang around 10:00 pm. We had some heated words. As usual, I subconciously manipulated her words to hear what I wanted to hear. There was a short phrase she had to read to me, a pharse I could not interpret in another way. I thank her for saying it so simply.

"... I just want to be friends."

Following some questioning, arguing, and understanding, I finally complied and shared my own concluding words.

"... You're not who I'm supposed to be with right now."

By the end of the conversation, my nerves had disipated, and a smirk that felt like a mild grin fell upon my face. I'd like to think Haley was satisfied and relieved with the talk as well. This morning, a mere nine hours after the official demise of our romantic era, Haley rang my door bell. I got into her Mustang as we headed for church. We felt so much more comfortable together, joking and rambling just like good friends do. I only needed that drive to church to confirm this is what I want with Haley. She has grown into one of my best friends. I can confide in her my thoughts and feelings. I thoroughly enjoy her company. I wanted to end the ambiguity, develop a definite decision on this relationship, have no regrets about our actions and decisions, and be prepared to move on with my life.

The verdict is newly etched in stone: the romantic, boyfriend-girlfriend phase of my relationship with Haley is over. I hold my head high, knowing we made the best, most healthy decision, shared many warm memories together, and finished peacefully with our friendship maintained. When I return to school, I want to meet new girls and hopefully find a new sweet beauty to date and grow with.

And when it happens, I want to call my dear friend Haley and tell her about that girl.

Thanks for the memories, Haley. I hold them firmly against my heart as we close this chapter and flip to the next page.