How to start this...

Well, first I hope your summer's going well. It's May 12th when I'm writing this and I already know my summer's going to be hectic. I might come back gray. That would be a sight. This letter won't reach you until July 5th, my birthday, and a date when I'm going to be states and states away.

Call me a coward but writing a letter doesn't make anything easier.

I suppose I should get to the point of why I'm writing you. I decided on a letter because of a series of things... One, you probably wouldn't genuinely talk to me otherwise, unless we were alone, and that's a rare moment to find with a whole crowd of kids around after school. Ha, thinking about the horrid crowds I don't even blame you for not coming anymore. If I had a choice I probably wouldn't go out either. I will say that I miss you. I notice when you're not there. Not to be creepy, but you're one of the few interesting people I know and I love talking to you.

Anyway, the other reason for my writing is because this way I can hopefully be as honest as possible without interruption. Now, please don't throw this away, at least not yet. This is hard enough for me to actually write as is, and I'm basing this entire effort off the idea that you'll be considerate. That's right. Under your stubborn, pseudo-evil, intolerant self I believe there's a nice, considerate side. I've seen it before so I know it's there. I guess it's why I tried so hard to be your friend, tried so endless to coax you out more often. I must've failed though, so I guess you could count that as reason three as to why I'm writing.

This isn't a pity letter (I do have a purpose for it) but I'm...I dunno, saying that I understand why you hate me. I wasn't a great friend, and I wasn't the kind of friend you wanted or needed. But at least I can take comfort knowing I tried. So I'm going to try something else, and hope that maybe it will turn out better.

I'm writing this letter to let you know that I liked you. Haha. Even reading over that I know it makes me sound pathetic. But, this is something new, the whole being honest and forthcoming, so I might as well carry on. I know you don't like me so maybe that's what makes this whole ordeal a little less frightening. The initial 'what will he say?' is solved. So now all that's left is that awkward moment where the girl stands in front of the boy and tries to explain her feelings, occasionally stumbling over her words. She will probably stare at her oh so interesting shoes, hoping that staring at the ground is better than glimpsing the callous look on his face.

Well, sorry to disappoint but I'm not wearing any shoes, least of all any interesting ones. Doctor’s orders are to wear stupid sandals until the wound on my foot heals.

However, I suppose I could pretend I'm wearing my favorite bubblegum pink and baby blue converse. I wouldn't mind staring beat-red at those. Maybe it’ll keep my mind off the berating animal in my chest. But only maybe.

Where to go from here...

I'm horribly new at this, being painfully shy about just about anything. So, I guess I should explain my knowledge of the situation.

I know you don't like me.

I don't expect you to.

I'm not expecting any kind of response to this.

Now I’ll grind my imaginary shoes into the gravel to try and unravel my nerves.

This letter was mostly to tell you that I have faith that you are a good guy, and I hope that you realize that you have a lot of friends who love you to bits.

I always loved hanging out with you because you had more to say than anyone I knew. And in the odd way that we were usually opposite in viewpoints you helped to keep me open-minded. Still, you didn't speak up much. It used to seem that you just didn't have anyone to listen to you-honestly that's what I thought it was. So I started talking to you; whether it was only a few words in Chemistry or on the walk to second period or for a few rare hours after school when we were the only ones left.

I tried to make sure I was there to listen.

I'd start a conversation with a quirky statement. You'd tell me you hated me. I'd laugh it off and continue with asking a question. Then you respond and we started some weird conversation about how Jesus is or isn't a transvestite (you hated that conversation catalyst). I can even picture the way your eyes would get big and your head would shake a little whenever I made an outlandish statement. Your hair would get in your eyes too.

Still, you always had something to say, and I liked to hear what you thought about things. You even had a good sense of humor. I knew you did even though no one believed me.

Now that the pathetic part is over the only thing left to say is that I promise not to talk to you anymore. That's how it was before. And the past is always better, right? Except you'd say that only certain parts of the past were good.

You like the Roman Empire, yeah?

I like it too.