Dear Ian
Dear Ian!
You asked me out this morning! It was after our Philosophy class; you came up to me in the hallway. Did you mean to look so scared? Was I polite to you, or did I stare?
I said yes. You are going to call me tonight. Dear Ian: I do not think that we are a good idea.
I get fucked up over things. I was fucked up over you for a little while, when we read 12 Angry Men out loud in English class. You were the peaceful juror; I was the one who got violent. Do you remember that? We yelled at each other for a week. I was kind of fucked up, then.
I was also fucked up - just a little - at last year's prom. Your top hat had a red feather in it and you told me I was a good dancer. Dear Ian, I felt significant; it was not an unpleasant evening.
But you walked up to me this morning, and you were not screaming or feathered or even very attractive; you bit your lips and asked for my phone number, and suddenly I was afraid that I would fuck you up instead.
Dear Ian - I am not a nice person. I made the last boy who was frightened in front of me very upset, and I do not think that I have forgiven myself. Dear Ian, I wasn't even fucked up over him.
Dear Ian - I am going to try to think of a way not to scare you. I am not going to look at your lips.
Dear Ian; how can I make you understand that nothing beautiful will come from picking up the phone?
You asked me out this morning! It was after our Philosophy class; you came up to me in the hallway. Did you mean to look so scared? Was I polite to you, or did I stare?
I said yes. You are going to call me tonight. Dear Ian: I do not think that we are a good idea.
I get fucked up over things. I was fucked up over you for a little while, when we read 12 Angry Men out loud in English class. You were the peaceful juror; I was the one who got violent. Do you remember that? We yelled at each other for a week. I was kind of fucked up, then.
I was also fucked up - just a little - at last year's prom. Your top hat had a red feather in it and you told me I was a good dancer. Dear Ian, I felt significant; it was not an unpleasant evening.
But you walked up to me this morning, and you were not screaming or feathered or even very attractive; you bit your lips and asked for my phone number, and suddenly I was afraid that I would fuck you up instead.
Dear Ian - I am not a nice person. I made the last boy who was frightened in front of me very upset, and I do not think that I have forgiven myself. Dear Ian, I wasn't even fucked up over him.
Dear Ian - I am going to try to think of a way not to scare you. I am not going to look at your lips.
Dear Ian; how can I make you understand that nothing beautiful will come from picking up the phone?