There...there's a lot I have to tell you. And for all my bravery and sureness and stubbornness, I really just can't find it in me to say it all to your face. But the words come more easily to me when I'm writing, when the easy flow of my pen is saving me from the rambling flow of my mouth. ...Actually, in all reality, I might not be able to give you this letter, either. But there are some things I have to get off my chest, and there's no doubt some explaining to do.
This letter may come across as immature and pitiful and stupid and ridiculous and I may walk away looking like an idiot, but even if it does, even if I do, I want you to do one thing.
Don't tell anybody, okay?
Not your guys, not the girls you tease (do you remember when that was me?), not my friends. Please. If you never ever do a thing for me again, do that, because I'm not sure I could stand the laughing, not when you caused it. Please.
But I wouldn't complain if you didn't think of me as an idiot, of course - even you know that I hate looking idiotic.
And just for the record, I'm not pleading. This isn't a letter to ask for your heart, or make you feel guilty, or anything like that. You should know me well enough to know that I'm much, much too prideful for that, and honestly, it would be useless, wouldn't it? No, all I'm asking is that you hear me out. Then, you can burn this letter, or frame it, or make an origami panda. Use the back for phone numbers. Doodle hearts and stars or the dirt bikes you love so much. I don't care - at least, I won't, not by then.
That's one hell of an introduction, isn't it? I'm nervous - so I'm rambling, and my pen is shaking. (The ink's smearing, just as I smeared any chance we may have had.) Remember when you used to tease me about my tiny, neat handwriting? And I'd just roll my eyes, and tell you what an idiot you were, and God, it wasn't my fault your handwriting was messier than Godzilla's. I didn't like it back then, but now, I miss that - I really do.
Have you even noticed that we don't talk anymore? Aside from a stray word here and there, the last conversation I had with you was probably a year ago - it's unbelievable, that we'd actually let that happen. Me and you...I guess we were friends, weren't we? I guess all of your teasing, and my quick temper... I never really hated you, I guess. It seemed like it at the time, but now, in retrospect, this was a long-time coming, wasn't it?
From the minute you decided I was fun to mess with, and the second I decided you were worth hating, I guess I was bound to fall for you. It was practically professed - someone, somewhere up there, was having a laugh - and it was just always going to happen. I should've seen it a whole lot earlier, because no one else could get under my skin like that. Anyone who could rile me up so quickly, practically effortlessly, and draw such a reaction from me, was someone different - someone special. Maybe if I'd noticed, if I'd paid more attention, it could have been avoided. If I'd kept it to myself, if it hadn't gotten around, if you hadn't found out, everything might be different.
(There's some famous saying about if's, and how meaningless they are. Some insightful philosopher whose words are forgotten and can't be recalled, like mine probably will be.)
In the same way I was bound to fall for you, we - me and you - we were always meant to say goodbye. It just so happens that we said goodbye before we'd properly said hello. We never had a chance to be a "we" because there was never a chance that you would actually like me. The thing is, that I never expected us to be - but I still hoped for a "we." How confusing was that?
I never meant for you to find out that I liked you. I never meant for it to drag out like this. I never meant to fall for you, and I never meant for all this drama to happen between us.
I'd blame my friends, but there's no denying that it's my fault. My friends would never have done any of the crazy things they did to "help" me if I hadn't told them in the first place. And while we're on that subject, I never instigated any of the crazy things they did.
But I'm sorry anyway.
And I'm sorry that the few times we've spoken lately, I lashed out. Think of it as my defense mechanism - not understanding scares me, and looking like an idiot scares me more, because of my oh-so-stubborn-pride, and I don't know how else to react. Knowing that you might already think I'm an idiot terrifies me, and I don't want you thinking that I'm just a foolish, fawning girl who has no opinion of her own and would do anything at your beck and call.
And by lashing out, I definitely leave you with no doubt that I'm no fawning idiot. I hope.
Do you remember when I sneered, when you were flirting with that girl (you know, the one who's everything I'm not?), and my friend teased you about it, and I used the words that my writer's tongue picks so carefully, the words made to sting - I told my friends after that I'd done it because it was funny. The look on your face, that utter confusion, I told them it was funny - and since when has my sarcasm not made them laugh? They laughed, because it was funny.
There was nothing funny about the confusion in your eyes, because I'd hurt you, the tiniest bit. And maybe it was fair trade - after all, you've hurt me so many times, so what was one little snipe? But I'd done it intentionally. I'd wanted it to hurt -- I wanted you to take notice of me, one more time. I didn't like being ignored. Afterwards, though...there was nothing funny about it. We may have all laughed it off, but I've regretted it every day since.
I"ll admit it now, to the paper, to you. I was jealous.
Everything that's happened happened for a reason, as I keep telling myself. If you ever figure out what that reason is, let me know, because I haven't got a clue, and we both know I don't like not understanding.
Oh, and I guess that you should remember this, because you seem to have forgotten - you used to be just a guy, with that one best friend, that wasn't really popular and wasn't really not. That's when I fell for you. That's when I realized that every time you laughed, I smiled, and every time you smiled, I glowed. That's when I realized that you actually were different than those other guys. I was in this way before anyone else cared one way or the other.
I fell for you before you got popular.
And really, you're not like them, that much. At least, the boy I knew wasn't like them - you're just not. That guy you hang out with now is different from you. You're his wing man - he's your friend. And I've known him years longer than I've known you - he's not bad; but you're not like him.
What else is there to say?
I won't say that I love you, because how weird would that be? But I'll tell you one more time that I'm sorry, for so many things that I didn't even do, and that you really deserve better than her. Not me, just better than her.
Love (if I ever could),
The Girl Who Wishes She was Enough
P.S. Your favorite color's green, your birthday is September first, and you hate looking stupid. You're not stupid, by the way - you're not. You act like it, but you're really smarter than that.
Your sister's name is Ann, and you think your grandma's cool. You loved fiddling with anything that can be taken apart, and you're fantastic at soccer. Once, when you were younger, before I knew you, you ran full speed into a sign post - and dented it. You like snickerdoodles - you found that out in reading class. The song you sang along with in science class was "Brick House." You don't like arguing, and you don't like it when teachers call you out, because you're always scared you'll be wrong.
Ask her if she knew that.
P.P.S. Even when I hated you, I always listened.
Ha, wow, if anyone from my school reads this, I'm screwed. This is actually...personal, very personal. Based on real people (moi).
I'd really love to know what y'all thought of it! I left them both nameless, because it was easier that way-nothing but their real names would fit, and I don't want to do that, so...yup, they're nameless. Anyway, give me thoughts, constructive crit-I love it all. :)