November 26, 2014
It's been awhile. I haven't seen you in nine months, had any contact with you, or even heard of you through the almighty, all-knowing grapevine. I'm across the world, and it seems our paths don't even cross in the virtual world of social media.
Strangely enough, I'm okay with that. You used to be - and pardon my creepiness, but I'm just being honest - one of my obsessions. I crushed on you from the first time I met you in fourth grade, and all through high school, on and off; with alarmingly varying emotions as you changed, matured, and dated people other than me. And in the past ten years, you (hopefully!) never knew just how crazy this classmate was, or the wild thoughts that raced through my head as I sat in my assigned seat next to you. We've been acquaintances for that long; friends in the beginning, but with time our closeness has dwindled.
That was my fault. There were many times in high school when I was completely brutal to you, for seemingly no reason. And how could I expect you to know what was going on in my head? I had this crazy crush on you, but whenever you did something I didn't like, I pushed you away and cut you down out of jealousy and spite, and I apologize for that.
I singlehandedly ruined what could have still been a beautiful friendship today. It wasn't your changes, your moods, or that girl - though I certainly tried to lay the blame in all those places. I found fault everywhere except for within.
Can I create an apology for someone who will never receive it? Is it possible for me to wish the best to someone I thought I loved but never really knew?
Well, I'm here, aren't I?
This is a collection of letters written over the years to you. I never sent them. Over time, you ceased to be the object of my desires and simply became my inspiration; my muse. I feel only regret and a desire for friendship toward you now - but this is my tribute to you; memoirs explaining how I felt, as a sort of repentance.
And perhaps, as a message to those who have experienced unrequited love. It isn't pretty, but there is an unexplainable, desperate thrill in the melancholy and sheer hopelessness of it all.
Then again, maybe that's just me. My dad always did call me the drama queen.
So here it is: to Kelley. May you continue to punch the ever-living daylights out of those who would tease you for having a girl's name. And may you never again have the gall to make a poor girl fall in love with you because of your unaffected charm.