The Letters That You Send
Dear Ryan,
It’s 1:23 in the morning right now. I can’t sleep. I was just thinking. About all that shit we did together when we were growing up. Like that one time when you tried to cut my hair in your bathroom and it didn’t work at all. Fuck, my mom wouldn’t speak to me for days…
I’m getting off topic. That wasn’t why I wrote this. I’ll try to stay on the subject from now on because I’m sure you’re reading this and thinking, “God, Brendon. Why did you even send this to me?” Well Ryan Ross, I did so for one very specific reason. I need to tell you something and I’m pretty sure I’ll never be able to say it straight to your face. You know how much of a coward I am. I mean God, my palms are sweating already and I haven’t even told you anything yet. How come this happens to me, Ryan? How come every time I try to tell you I always end up nervous and shaky? It’s totally not me. And you know that. And it’s not the kind of nervous like that one time before we went on that rollercoaster at Six Flags. Do you remember that? I was so fucking scared and you were determined to get me on that thing, that screaming, nausea-inducing death trap. I remember that was the first time you ever held my hand. I remember because I was afraid you could feel how sweaty my palm was. I think I was more afraid of that then the rollercoaster.
Fuck, I did it again. Are you still reading this, Ryan? If you are, I salute you right now. How are you able to sit through all of my rambling? It’s amazing. It’s embarrassing.
I just deleted two paragraphs full of shit that has nothing to do with what I’m supposed to be telling you. I think by now you can tell that I just don’t want to tell you at all. But I know I have to. Please don’t hate me. I need you to know. I need you to know so I can stop hiding all of this from you.
It’s 3:15. I’ve spent nearly two fucking hours on this for you, Ryan. Pretty soon I’ll have to shut this computer down and tell it to your face. I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to do that. Why is this so hard? I feel like crying because I can’t even fucking type it out. I’m such a pansy. I’m such a loser. I wish I could be brave like you are.
I’m really tired now. I’m sleep-deprived. I’ve got that huge fucking calculus exam tomorrow morning. I think I’m going to go to sleep. Good morning.
It’s 3:40 and I’m in love with you, Ryan Ross.