Open Letter #1
Last night I heard noise outside my window and thought it was you. My heart skipped a couple beats and I almost dropped the book I was reading, but it wasn’t you. I knew that it wasn’t but hoped it was you, because when I was 16 and you would come to my window at night, it was better than red toenail polish, stealing my first vibrator, and drinking chocolate milk, all at once.
Every once in a while I think of you, and there are several things and places I have to avoid all together because they either remind me of you or I’m afraid of running into you there, with a girl, and know that will make me want to die a little inside because it feels wrong.
When I found a photo of you when we were happy together, I really lost it. Throw it away? Burn it? Hide it in the sock drawer?
I put it in a big frame with pictures of my friends and family, because you were once both. Suxxor. Now I get to look at it every day and feel embarrassment, anger, spite, and missing you, all at the same time, and it is hella confusing.
I keep getting this sneaking suspicion that I’ll never really get over you, and it hurts. There have been two people I have ever been completely comfortable around and when we were on good terms, you were one of those people. Around the end I honestly would have felt better if one of us would have just thrown a punch already.
Stupid us and our case of the crazies. We’re worse than Frida and Diego, but at least they were famous. We were just stupid in love and stupid in general.
If you don’t love me I feel like I’m going to die. This is an extreme case of the emos and I thought I outgrew this a long time ago, but apparently not.
Four years and an engagement, man. I’m so pissed off and still in love with you, it’s not even funny.
Or it is, but in that “Wow, that’s sad” and not “Ha ha” funny, although I can see both sides.
I found myself randomly thinking about you and immensely missing you. I don’t think that’ll ever change. Do you ever wonder about me?
