A/N- This letter was written when I was crushing very badly on this one guy. But I never sent the letter, and drama happened, and I no longer like him and no longer even vaguely suspect he likes me. But i just found this again, and i realized the writing wasn't bad, and so i thought i might as well post it. It is, after all, the letter everyone who's at all like me has always wanted to send but never had the courage to.

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Love, No One

Story By StormDancer

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Dear Someone,

I don’t think I’ll ever tell you what I feel. Not unless you tell me first, and that’s never going to happen because the feeling’s not reciprocated. I know it’s not, and I can live with it. I’m not one of the girls who needs to lean on a guy, who has to be with someone to keep going. I’m independent, or at least, I want to be. I think I am. And even if I’m not, I’ve always told myself I’ll never be a fool for love. Don’t think I’m in love with you, though, because even if love exists, I’m not in love with you. It’s a stupid, ephemeral high school crush, and I’ll purge it from my heart. Eventually. I’m not going to pine away, I’m not going t even be jealous of the girls you go out with- the pretty, flirty, graceful girls who know how to catch a guy’s attention. Okay, so I’m lying. I’ll only be a little bit jealous. I won’t do anything- I’m not that much of a fool, you don’t like me and that’s that, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. I’m perfectly content with us just being friends- no, I’m not. I might as well be honest, it’s not like you’re ever going to see this.

I like you, in the way of teenagers. I want to be your girlfriend. We would have fun, I think. I know we can talk about basically anything, and we’re compatible. It sounds unromantic, but hey, I’m a cynic to the bone. It would be… nice going out with you. I’d try to look pretty more often. I’d try to be more open with my emotions- maybe just holding hands in school, or even just sitting next to each other. I wouldn’t want a lot of PDA- but neither would you. Another way we match. But I know the clichés, don’t worry. It’s not the people who would match who get together, it’s the opposites. And we aren’t opposites, so I can’t even cling to that faint hope. But as I said, all of this, everything I’ve said, even typing this, is irrelevant, because despite what everyone- okay, just my friends, but that’s everyone who really matters to me- urges, I’m not going to even try to get you to like me. I’m not going to change for you. If you want a girlier girl, or one who won’t challenge you with her intelligence or something, then I quite frankly don’t want you. Me flirting is a laughable concept, and the reality is worse.

But all that’s not the real reason I’m never going to say a word. I’m too proud to be vulnerable enough to want you as much as I do. I vowed to myself I’m not going to ever be as dependent on someone as I see other people. And I’m terrified that would happen. I don’t think it would- as I said; I don’t have that kind of temperament. But what if it did? And I got too clingy, and you dumped me, and I was a complete and utter wreck, and there would go all my vaunted pride (you know my imagination can be too active, all this is probably ludicrous). Of course, I doubt you would dump me for that reason. If anything, I would be a bad girlfriend for other reasons. I would be wary of being clingy, and thus never initiate contact- you would have to start everything, from grabbing my hand to asking me out. I’m too afraid of rejection, because not only would that kill my pride but it would also mean everyone else would know about it, and I would be a laughingstock. I can sarcasm off hints and jokes, and people believe me, but for all my skill I don’t think I could manage to laugh off a open rejection- people might think I’m a cynic, but in all honesty, I get attached far too easily, and I tend to feel too deeply. And I know that even writing this is a illustration of that- what fool writes a love letter saying how she’s never going to tell you how much she likes (not love, remember) you- but then again, I’ve always admired the daring of fools.

Now my imagination has been fired up, and I’m running through permutations of me giving this to you. I’m not going to go up to you, of course; it’ll have to be anonymous. I’d probably slip it into your locker. And than what would happen? The optimism I try to hide says you’d figure out it was me- who else would be this hopelessly romantic? – and it would give you the confirmation that you’ve been searching for and you’d ask me out. But then reality kicks in- and however much I’d like to substitute my own, I’m enough of a pragmatist to know I can’t- and my cynicism returns. You’d laugh about it to your-our-friends, and not know who gave it to you. You’d give me a sad, regretful look and stop speaking to me because I know you get scared when you’re around girls who have feelings for you that you don’t return. You’d assume it was a joke and I’d hear you laughing about it- I hear more than you think, but less then I brag. And those are the scenarios I know would happen, because despite my wishful thinking and friends’ hopeful encouragement, you don’t like me. Any hints I might pick up either aren’t meant for me-I know I’m not the most attractive or likable of my friends- or I’m reading too much into them.

And so even if my optimism is right, hopefully you’ll never know who wrote this letter- because first, I don’t want to ever be thought so pitiful as to write something this cliché and sappy, but secondly, I’m too proud to want you, and I don’t like you enough for it to overwhelm my pride. Pride has always been my driving emotion, and my crushes are no exception to that fact. You’ll go out with other girls, and I’ll get over you. I can do that, you know. You aren’t the be all and end all, no matter what your well-hidden arrogance might say. You’re just the first serious crush I’ve had at school, and my inner hopeless romantic, well, craves romance. But I don’t need it. I’m fine without a boyfriend, without any romance in my life. Hey, you never know (or maybe you do, but I don’t), maybe one of the other guys actually does like me. That’s a novel idea (and probably absurd).

But returning to the point- I tend to ramble, if you haven’t already noticed that, as you make it even worse- you’ll never get this letter, so I can say it. I like you. A lot. But you’ll never know, hopefully (though my friends say I’m obvious, but I tend to disbelieve them) because this is the closest I’ll ever get to telling you because of pride and cowardice and lack of self confidence. You’ll never receive this letter. Too much of me is in it, and thus you’d know who it is, as you aren’t an idiot. And as I said, I will never be one of the girls who pine over boys.

So here’s my heart, bared to you on a computer screen- or, if you ever really do read this, it would be on paper. I’m never going to give it to you, because then you’d have power over me. And my pride won’t let me give control up. Not to anyone. Not even to you. There is a heart beating in me, somewhere beneath the sarcasm and temper. But it’s covered in walls of icy dignity and control issues, and so I’m reduced to typing love letters that will never be read, and watching you from afar, dreaming despite all reality that someday you’ll see past my walls and my pride won’t matter anymore. And that’ll happen, someday. In my dreams, and only there.

Love (well, not love, but signing with ‘like’ doesn’t sound very good’),

No one

PS: So, you’ve read this and are probably amazed at how angsty I can be. Well, yeah, I can- I’m a teenager, after all- but keep in mind that I’m reveling (and exaggerating) in that angst. And even if I do end up giving this to you- though I recognize the hypocrisy that would be- it isn’t meant to be read. So, if you’ve managed to delve through the angst overdose and gotten this far, disregard the entire letter. Sorta. A lot of it is the hyperbole I love so much- except that it isn’t. Not the sentiment, anyway. That’s real. Far too real.