Like many things, the one you like the most is the one you can't have.
It's like that song you heard while gliding by on your bike through a cul-de-sac as an 11 year old, blasting out the garage of some middle-class family, from some teenage band that never made it, and, looking back on it, you knew they never could, even then. A song you'll never forget, and will always want to hear again, because it was so good when you heard it. Remember that time they played at the high school? And you tried to meet them after the assembly because you wanted so bad to buy their CD, and you were so ecstatic because your friend - this chick you were crushing on, and bad - knew the band? And the lead singer told you to fuck off? Yeah, that song.
It's also like that woman that said "hi" to you as she was getting off the bus this afternoon. She was giving you eyes. You both know it. She was cute. You're not too bad yourself, asshole. Maybe if you had had a shower this morning, anyway. But she said "hi" to you as she was getting off, and did that cute little wave thing that only a shy girl can do - the kind of girl you want to do good by. The kind of girl you can see yourself doing stupid things with like, walking on the beach, and espousing your inner most feelings too. But you're married with children, dickhead. Stop thinking about that. Who are YOU doing good by?
It's also not unlike that one friend that you did everything with when you were 23. You only knew each other for a year, but it was the best god damn year of your whole life - well, aside from holding your first born in your arms for the first time, of course. Nothing will ever top that. But acting a fool in Fremont at 1am, dancing in the middle of the road, doing that stupid Grease thing with the finger snapping and the in-time tap dancing. No, you weren't doing that of course - but you sure as shit were trying to. And it was fun. And it was magical because you and him connected on every level and did so many things together that you almost questioned your sexuality and so did he. Sure, you both flirted with girls together. Hell, you both brought women home too. You played wingmen together. You climbed on the free climb wall at REI. You went on long hikes together. He made you breakfast. He plucked your eyebrows. You used his sister's toothbrush and she didn't mind. You drove for miles in the snow to his party because no one else could possibly be as fun as he was right then. And years later, when you meet a mutual friend of his and yours for a beer at the Zoo - an occasion that in itself brings butterflies to your stomach because it brings back memories of that year, the one year from your twenties you'll remember - she tells you that he was bisexual and wanted you. And, now, now that you're older, and you know yourself better, you realize you don't want him. Not in that way. You might have thought about it when you were drunk off your ass a few times, but you're glad you didn't follow through. Because what you really liked most of all was his friendship. And sleeping with him, even if he wanted it and you briefly thought about it now and again, would have ruined it. All of it. And you realize now, as you're typing it all out on the internet - hey, maybe I should reach out to that guy. Maybe I should send him a friend request. But then you remember the last time you saw him. He was so upset because you were smoking now. He'd been gone all summer at air force training. What else were you supposed to do? You went out to all the bars, and like so many stupid people, you picked up smoking because everyone else was outside smoking - and you didn't show up with anyone because you're a lonely loser. So may as well hang with the smokers, right? But you're married with children, dickhead. Stop thinking about that. And he lives in Ohio anyway.
What else is it like? It's like a Mercenary IPA from Odells brewery in Fort Collins, CO. That place you lived in for two years while working a shitty job in a beautiful place. Maybe it was the fact that you were in Colorado that was clouding your judgment, but that's probably the best beer I've ever had. And I can't have it because they don't ship to my state. And...maybe that's better. Maybe it's better I remember what I was doing when I was drinking it. Maybe it's better that I remember, not the fact that it's a good beer and I drank it a few times, but that the few times I did drink it, I was drinking it because I loved it, even though I wasn't making rent, my cable was getting cut, and I was eating cold left over pizza from an office party that I carted home on my bike because I couldn't afford gas. But you're married with children, dickhead. Stop thinking that. Who do you think you are, prioritizing a $10.50 four-pack above your life and blood?