Dear You,

I know this sounds really weird. I know that after I say this you probably won’t talk to me ever again. But I have to say it, you know? It’s like…maybe I can’t deal with the fact that I’ll leave you never knowing the truth. Never even having a shot at it.

Do you know that I watch you? Not like in the stalker way… not really. Just sometimes, I’ll stare at the back of your head as it dives in and out of the sea of people, but instead of you gasping for air as you come back, I’m the one searching for the air your hairline stole from me. Isn’t that pathetic? Isn’t that just sad?

You’re probably laughing right now. You’re laughing like you always do. You laugh at me, at that dorky kid who is in our class who follows you around, you laugh at my jokes. I love your laugh. I love the way your nose scrunches up into folds of skin as you do. I love how your eyes light up their deep, vibrant blue. I wonder if you love anything about me, even notice the difference of how I laugh when I’m with you.

But we always set up those stupid pretenses. You know, the “I hate you”s that we throw at each other. The glares. The stabs at the other. Just to tease. Just out of fear of each other finding out maybe we care. Maybe we have hearts. Maybe I love you.

Sometimes, at night, I’ll just dream even though I’m wide awake. I’ll sink into the fantasy of you hearing my pleas of love to you. And just when I think you’re going to do one of your adorable, mocking laughs, you pull me close and kiss me. I don’t know why but, in my mind, your lips always taste like lemonade and cookies. Like summer. Like freedom.

But does it even matter? After all my dreams, my heartache over you, my dreams about possibilities of being with you, I’m the one leaving. And I don’t even know if that hurts you. I don’t even know if you care. I don’t even know when you say you’re glad I’m gone, if you really mean it. Because, truth be told, sometimes- a lot of the times- I think maybe you love me too. Maybe when you stare at me, it’s not because I’m just that hideous as you say. Maybe it’s because you like me, you think I’m cute, you dream about me too. Maybe all of your cruelties and teasing is just a façade, just to block the truth from my grasp…just to drive me mad.

I’m leaving. And more than likely, I’ll never see you again. You’ll move on to find new girls, no doubt. And I’ll, no doubt, move on to other guys that drive me batty. But I often wonder if I’ll ever forget you. If, even on my dying bed, if someone said your name, would I quickly sink back into my fantasies of old…?
At least know this: That I think I love you. I don’t know, I’m a skeptic, but I really think I do. And even though I’ll love someone else eventually, and you will too, you’ll always be my measuring stick. And I’ll always try to find someone better than you. The minute I find that, I know he’s the one. Problem is that I’m scared.

Because even with my wild imaginations, I can’t even create a fantasy anyone better than you.

Yep, I love you. No doubt about it. I love you.

I wish I didn’t.

Love,
Me