We decide to eat down in the hotel restaurant after coming up empty handed from the visit to your room. My friend from years ago has been texting me this whole time, so I invite him to come eat with us. We find the first table we see, not many are open, and sit down. You sit next to me on the sort of couch that the seat is, and I can't help but notice how much space exists between us. Has there always been this much space, or did you only start that recently?

My friend finds us seconds later, and I introduce him to you and your friend. Suddenly you've all hit it off, and I'm watching in amusement as you begin swapping stories with one another. You fit in so well with everyone, and sometimes I think maybe thats the reason why we became such good friends. Not because you felt something for me, but just for the reason that you could never turn down another possible friendship.

I'm not saying that's a bad thing, far from it. I think that could be one of the best traits to have. But sometimes I feel like just being friends with you is something I could never do. Of course I can try my hardest, I would try my hardest, for you. But I don't know how much of that my heart could take.

I look over at you, the thoughts swirling in my head suddenly clouding my vision, obscuring my view of you. Are you who I think you are? Are you the person that you made yourself out to be in our conversations, in our songs and in our late night confessions? Are you still that same person?

You're smiling now, but it's not a smile that reaches your eyes. I used to question my happiness, my very existence, before you came along. But then I realized that maybe happiness wasn't about trying to make yourself feel something, but rather finding something to make others feel that thing, and in turn feeling it yourself. I thought we had found that, together, but maybe I was wrong that whole time.

Or maybe it was me who screwed it all up.

We all finish our food, or your friend finishes all our food at least. Suddenly its after midnight, and we're feeling the effects of it. We pay our bills and make our way back to the elevators across the hall. I press the button for my floor - 16, and you press the button for yours - 20. We're on separate elevators again.

Maybe this is how it is. Maybe the doors will ultimately close on us, no matter what we do, no matter how close we get. Maybe thats our perpetual destination - two separate places. Maybe we were never meant to be together. And maybe I'm reading too much into this.

We say our goodbyes, quick waves and simple goodnights are what they really consist of, and step into our designated elevators. I turn and notice my friend from dinner is on mine, and he asks me about you. Of course he does, he's known me for over 5 years, he can tell when my heart is chasing after something like this.

So I tell him, I tell him I have feelings for you. He asks me what the story is, but before I can get a word out, the doors open on my floor. I ask if he really wants to know, at 12am. Of course he doesn't. So the doors close and I walk back to my own room. Nothing said past 12am should be taken seriously.

I should have realized that before my heart became yours.