A letter I wrote to "no one".
I know. I know. This is not “cool”. There isn’t a single thing about taking time to write you that makes me “smooth”. If not talking to each other is some sort of game, I guess I just lost. But there are so many things I didn’t get to tell you - so I am willing to lose this "game". I know you check your email, so at least you’ll see that I sent you something and granted, I can’t control things like whether or not you even open it, but I’ll rest better knowing that I at least slid the letter under your door and just hope it doesn’t get swept out by the broom.
I started all of this for you around noon on a Monday. I had about all I could take of Criticality Analysis for the day (which is sad, considering there are three hours of the work left) so inspiration to write you set in quickly. Every time I think of you it begins the same way. First off, let me clarify that I never actually try to think of you, I just do. I hope that makes sense. You see - if I tried to think of you it would turn into an obsessive-compulsive behavior and I simply would never get any work done; so trying to think of you is out of the question. But, like I said, you come into my mind on your own all of the time. Let me elaborate on “all of the time”. The frequency of your thoughts invading my mind falls somewhere between how often I blink and how often I breathe, so I literally mean “all of the time”. Anyways, every time I think of you it begins the same way: it’s a recall to the time I came to visit you on a Wednesday night when it was raining. I parked outside on the street and walked through the rain to your room. I kept thinking to myself, “God, I can’t wait to see her.” That’s what I always think as I get closer to your door and that’s why my walk turns from a slow stride to a brisk shuffle. This particular Thursday, uh, Wednesday, however, you left the door open for me while you waited in your room on the phone. I got to your room and stopped in the threshhold; I rest my arm on the door molding and smile at you. I remember exactly what you were wearing: grayish pants with a black hoodie and black boots. I don’t know why this is how every thought of you begins, maybe it’s because I thought you looked really good that day, maybe it was because you were the perfect escape from the cold rain outside that was slowing moving traffic, maybe it’s just the way it is because that’s the way it is. But, anyways, that’s how it is. Wait, what?
-Kyle
I started all of this for you around noon on a Monday. I had about all I could take of Criticality Analysis for the day (which is sad, considering there are three hours of the work left) so inspiration to write you set in quickly. Every time I think of you it begins the same way. First off, let me clarify that I never actually try to think of you, I just do. I hope that makes sense. You see - if I tried to think of you it would turn into an obsessive-compulsive behavior and I simply would never get any work done; so trying to think of you is out of the question. But, like I said, you come into my mind on your own all of the time. Let me elaborate on “all of the time”. The frequency of your thoughts invading my mind falls somewhere between how often I blink and how often I breathe, so I literally mean “all of the time”. Anyways, every time I think of you it begins the same way: it’s a recall to the time I came to visit you on a Wednesday night when it was raining. I parked outside on the street and walked through the rain to your room. I kept thinking to myself, “God, I can’t wait to see her.” That’s what I always think as I get closer to your door and that’s why my walk turns from a slow stride to a brisk shuffle. This particular Thursday, uh, Wednesday, however, you left the door open for me while you waited in your room on the phone. I got to your room and stopped in the threshhold; I rest my arm on the door molding and smile at you. I remember exactly what you were wearing: grayish pants with a black hoodie and black boots. I don’t know why this is how every thought of you begins, maybe it’s because I thought you looked really good that day, maybe it was because you were the perfect escape from the cold rain outside that was slowing moving traffic, maybe it’s just the way it is because that’s the way it is. But, anyways, that’s how it is. Wait, what?
-Kyle