It's never going to get better with Frank and I.
I keep trying. I analyze, I ask questions, I explain, I apologize. I tell him how important our friendship is. I keep looking for common ground and if I can't find any I give up some of mine. I tell myself it's ok, it's worth it. It's worth all this energy navigating around the Bermuda triangle of his defensiveness.
Because. It. Just. Is.
But it doesn't matter what I do or how I explain it to myself. At the end of the day I am still wondering why I am not worth the same effort. Why am I not good enough? Every time we fuck I feel like a prostitute. But, of course, prostitutes get paid.
I'm sure it's all implicit -- we're still kinda sorta talking after so many bitter fights -- so of course he cares.
How is a friend who can't say he wants to be a friend better than loneliness?