“Nothing is wrong,” she tells herself shaking her head to remove the drifting thoughts that cloud her sunny skies. She made them herself, spent meticulous hours to create such perfect cumulus rounded tops, now disturbed by nimbus intrusions and her own fears, but she doesn’t see it. She repeats it again. “Nothing is wrong,” and believes it is true. *
I think it might just be that I'm used to being the first, or that I am used to awkward guys, but you seem so slick, so practiced with this whole relationship thing, that some of the time I find myself wondering if the words you say are truely sincere. You're too perfect, too articulate, too many things I haven't ever experienced. How is it that you don't seem to miss your ex? 8 months+ is a long time to not have any feelings of remorse for not being with her anymore. I know, you're with me now, I shouldn't worry, but it makes me wonder what you don't tell me. You're slowly learning that telling me things doesn't phase me as much as you think, so when are we going to really be as comfortable as we pretend?
I've written countless letters to you. I've written even more that I never sent. For 2 months our relationship was letters. Letters, the occasional phone call, and more good memories than tears.
I wrote letters to you before I knew you. I wrote letters to "my future perfect guy" and they started out with "Dear You." When I first met you, I wrote letters about how much I liked you but never got the guts to tell you. Then, I wrote letters when we first got together. Telling you how happy I was. Next came the stage where I wrote letters to you telling you I loved you. Short messages in second period that you could get during 4th period. Letters thanking you for everything you've done for me. When you moved, I wrote letters filled with pain and agony. I was writhing at the thought of how much I missed you. I loved you more than ever.
After a while, when your letters became few and far between, I could tell it was falling apart. But I couldn't see it. I knew, but I hid it from myself and thought, "Maybe if I just write him one more letter. One more, and he'll apologize for losing touch. One more heartfelt confession of love, and he'll send me two letters a day again." But, you didn't. The hardest letter I ever had to send was the one signed with "I still love you, but we can't give each other what we need right now."
One of the last letters I sent you had one word, one simple question that meant the world to me. That question was "Why?" You replied faster than I thought, proving you really were online every day, but just weren't talking to me. You replied saying "I made a mistake that both of us would regret. That mistake was telling you that I loved you. It was just infatuation through proximity."
So, in the final letter I sent you, the only thing I said was, "Good luck in the military."
And now, a month later, I'm still writing letters that I might give to you one day. When you come back, maybe we'll work this out and everything will be okay. You'll go into the military knowing that I love you, and you love me, and I'm going to wait 4 years for you. We'll see in two weeks.
I am writing to you because I need someone that will listen and understand and not try to sleep with that person at that party even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.
My life has no Michael, or Dave with the awkward glasses. No tragic tales of loss or romance as of yet. I’m just trying to make it until college, but aren’t we all? Mix tapes and books and those perfect moments where we feel infinite – that is what is keeping me going.
I know you’ll read this and wonder why. Why I have chosen to write my innermost secrets to an entire stranger, and I would tell you but I don’t know. I just need to sort things out, I guess.
I’m confused and lonely, and things like this give me hope. And that is why I often do things that are random and crazy and just a little bit nonsensical. Everyone needs to do things like this sometimes to keep their sanity. And I’m just trying to make sense of this thing called life and it’s harder than I could ever imagine.
But enough with my pointless ramblings that tell you nothing about me or anything interesting I’m sure. I promise my next letter will have some sort of point or purpose of some kind.
Right now, just thank you for listening to me and reading this.