fic: Lost Letters
Title: Lost Letters
Author: sari_m (privatephilosopher)
Summary: Santana contemplates on her relationship with Brittany.
Rating: G
Spoilers: mentions of both seasons.
I need to write something to express how I feel about all these Season 3 rumors.
Just like all my works, this is un-beta-ed. Tell me what you think. :)
Lost Letters
by privatephilosopher / sari_m
A is for A House Is Not A Home, the song Kurt Hummel sang that made me realize who my home was. I reached across the tiny distance between us and offered her my pinky. I felt an incredible warmth rush through me when she smiled and wrapped her pinky around mine, and I laid my head on her shoulder. Caught in the bliss of that moment, I felt like we were inseparable.
B is for her name.
B is also for Breadstix, the little restaurant where we used to hang out, before life decided to slowly tear apart the threads binding us tightly together. She moved on to the lap of a paralytic, I was frozen in standstill.
B is also for Born This Way, the ultimate theme of self-acceptance that our glee club, New Directions, was going to sing. I watched her dance flawlessly - and intensely - on the tiny stage, wearing her “I’M WITH STOOPID” t-shirt proudly. As the song came to an end, I glanced down at the word she’d printed on the shirt she made for me, and I felt my heart beat painfully in my chest.
C is for Cheerios, the cheerleading group we both joined in McKinley. It was the reason we became wildly popular and developed reputations. It made us untouchable. I didn’t realize back then that the only thing that could really hurt us was each other.
D is for ducks. Once every week we would go to the duck pond in the park and feed them. I would watch her as she gently scattered breadcrumbs where the ducks could easily find them, humming tunelessly to herself. She was perfect.
D is also for Dirt Locker. It was a week after I professed my love for her, and she wanted to know if she’d done something wrong, because I stopped talking to her. I didn’t want to admit that her rejection had taken me and broken me into a million tiny pieces. The emotions were too strong to handle, and I was steering clear of her in an attempt to tone them down. Sue Sylvester came and bullied us, but B stood up for us both. She was incredibly brave and it blew me away.
E is for Etheridge, Melissa. B wanted to sing Come To My Window for a duet competition. It alarmed me that she was so willing to expose the truth about us so casually. I lashed out. I hurt her.
F is for feelings. She wanted to talk about them. I was afraid to.
F is also for Fondue for Two, a talk show where she said something that inadvertently revealed the truth about me. I panicked. She tried to explain that we all misunderstood.
G is for Golf Team. They invited me to join them after B revealed the truth. It freaked me out.
H is for Hurt Locker. I told her I loved her. She told me she loved me back. But she wasn’t leaving him, and - to me in that vulnerable state - her choice of action seemed to speak louder than her words.
H is also for Heart Locker. The school year was almost over, and I needed to know where we both stood in our relationship. She told me she loved me more than she had ever loved anyone else in the world, and my heart was swelling with so much emotion, it was hard to breathe. Her words were bursting with promise and they filled me with relief. But everything was far from over.
I is for I Say A Little Prayer, our audition song for the New Directions. We were only there to pull Finn Hudson away from Rachel Berry, and to sabotage the group in the process. We were there to change the club. I don’t think any of us thought about how the club could change us.
K is for Kurt Hummel. I was afraid of coming out because I didn’t want to go through the same treatment that ultimately resulted in his transfer to Dalton Academy.
K is also (ironically) for Karofsky. I blackmailed him into being my beard so we could run together for prom king and queen. He won. I didn’t.
L is for Landslide, the song I decided to sing to express how I felt. The three of us - Holly Holliday, B, and me - sang it in front of the entire club. I was in tears when it was over, and she embraced me. That was the point of no return.
L is also for Lebanese. It was printed in block letters on the shirt she’d made for me. She wanted me to wear it during our performance of Born This Way. I wasn’t ready to.
M is for Me Against the Music. B and I performed it together in a combined fantasy. The adrenalin was pumping in my veins when we danced, and every movement of her body sent fierce heat exploding in my body.
N is for New Directions, the club that made us confront the truths about who we were. More importantly, the club that accepted us no matter what those truths were. B called them a family.
P is for pinky. Whenever B and I would link our pinkies together all the anger and frustration just seemed to seep from my body, leaving room for quiet serenity.
Q is for Quinn Fabray. She knew all along. She never said anything.
S is for Sweet Lady Kisses. The kisses we’d trade in quiet privacy, the ones that never left the confines of four solid walls. They spoke volumes of the things we never really learned to say.
S is for Songbird, the song I sang to her following her break-up from him. I couldn’t control all the feelings crashing through my body, and her eyes were misty when I finished. She called it beautiful. She wanted me to come on Fondue for Two so she could reveal to the world how she felt, and so she could ask me to prom. I said ‘ok,’ even though I knew I wouldn’t show up. I think somewhere deep inside, she knew I wouldn’t come, either.
S is also for soulmates. That’s what we were, right from the start. We always were bigger than this life, and I think that’s part of the reason we just couldn’t really be together. We were too perfect for each other. And that sort of perfection just wasn’t meant to exist.
T is for t-shirt, the one she made for me that said “LEBANESE.” When I refused to wear it she snapped, “Clearly you don’t love you as much as I do, or you’d put this shirt on and dance with me.” She always accepted me completely, regardless of whatever.
V is for Valentine’s Day. I was having a really bad day, but when Rachel Berry sang Katy Perry’s Firework and B stood up, took my hand and asked me to dance, all my troubles seemed to fade away. She was always there for me.
X is for the little ‘x’ kisses she used to finish her text messages with. She still does. I feel like laughing and crying whenever I see them.
1311 The number of words in this piece, a last, wistful look at the relationship that meant the world to me. The relationship that melted the icy covering of my heart and taught me how it was to love another person more than I loved myself. The relationship that slipped through our fingers despite our intentions and wishes, plans and dreams.
A love that was so real, but never came to be.
Author: sari_m (privatephilosopher)
Summary: Santana contemplates on her relationship with Brittany.
Rating: G
Spoilers: mentions of both seasons.
I need to write something to express how I feel about all these Season 3 rumors.
Just like all my works, this is un-beta-ed. Tell me what you think. :)
Lost Letters
by privatephilosopher / sari_m
A is for A House Is Not A Home, the song Kurt Hummel sang that made me realize who my home was. I reached across the tiny distance between us and offered her my pinky. I felt an incredible warmth rush through me when she smiled and wrapped her pinky around mine, and I laid my head on her shoulder. Caught in the bliss of that moment, I felt like we were inseparable.
B is for her name.
B is also for Breadstix, the little restaurant where we used to hang out, before life decided to slowly tear apart the threads binding us tightly together. She moved on to the lap of a paralytic, I was frozen in standstill.
B is also for Born This Way, the ultimate theme of self-acceptance that our glee club, New Directions, was going to sing. I watched her dance flawlessly - and intensely - on the tiny stage, wearing her “I’M WITH STOOPID” t-shirt proudly. As the song came to an end, I glanced down at the word she’d printed on the shirt she made for me, and I felt my heart beat painfully in my chest.
C is for Cheerios, the cheerleading group we both joined in McKinley. It was the reason we became wildly popular and developed reputations. It made us untouchable. I didn’t realize back then that the only thing that could really hurt us was each other.
D is for ducks. Once every week we would go to the duck pond in the park and feed them. I would watch her as she gently scattered breadcrumbs where the ducks could easily find them, humming tunelessly to herself. She was perfect.
D is also for Dirt Locker. It was a week after I professed my love for her, and she wanted to know if she’d done something wrong, because I stopped talking to her. I didn’t want to admit that her rejection had taken me and broken me into a million tiny pieces. The emotions were too strong to handle, and I was steering clear of her in an attempt to tone them down. Sue Sylvester came and bullied us, but B stood up for us both. She was incredibly brave and it blew me away.
E is for Etheridge, Melissa. B wanted to sing Come To My Window for a duet competition. It alarmed me that she was so willing to expose the truth about us so casually. I lashed out. I hurt her.
F is for feelings. She wanted to talk about them. I was afraid to.
F is also for Fondue for Two, a talk show where she said something that inadvertently revealed the truth about me. I panicked. She tried to explain that we all misunderstood.
G is for Golf Team. They invited me to join them after B revealed the truth. It freaked me out.
H is for Hurt Locker. I told her I loved her. She told me she loved me back. But she wasn’t leaving him, and - to me in that vulnerable state - her choice of action seemed to speak louder than her words.
H is also for Heart Locker. The school year was almost over, and I needed to know where we both stood in our relationship. She told me she loved me more than she had ever loved anyone else in the world, and my heart was swelling with so much emotion, it was hard to breathe. Her words were bursting with promise and they filled me with relief. But everything was far from over.
I is for I Say A Little Prayer, our audition song for the New Directions. We were only there to pull Finn Hudson away from Rachel Berry, and to sabotage the group in the process. We were there to change the club. I don’t think any of us thought about how the club could change us.
K is for Kurt Hummel. I was afraid of coming out because I didn’t want to go through the same treatment that ultimately resulted in his transfer to Dalton Academy.
K is also (ironically) for Karofsky. I blackmailed him into being my beard so we could run together for prom king and queen. He won. I didn’t.
L is for Landslide, the song I decided to sing to express how I felt. The three of us - Holly Holliday, B, and me - sang it in front of the entire club. I was in tears when it was over, and she embraced me. That was the point of no return.
L is also for Lebanese. It was printed in block letters on the shirt she’d made for me. She wanted me to wear it during our performance of Born This Way. I wasn’t ready to.
M is for Me Against the Music. B and I performed it together in a combined fantasy. The adrenalin was pumping in my veins when we danced, and every movement of her body sent fierce heat exploding in my body.
N is for New Directions, the club that made us confront the truths about who we were. More importantly, the club that accepted us no matter what those truths were. B called them a family.
P is for pinky. Whenever B and I would link our pinkies together all the anger and frustration just seemed to seep from my body, leaving room for quiet serenity.
Q is for Quinn Fabray. She knew all along. She never said anything.
S is for Sweet Lady Kisses. The kisses we’d trade in quiet privacy, the ones that never left the confines of four solid walls. They spoke volumes of the things we never really learned to say.
S is for Songbird, the song I sang to her following her break-up from him. I couldn’t control all the feelings crashing through my body, and her eyes were misty when I finished. She called it beautiful. She wanted me to come on Fondue for Two so she could reveal to the world how she felt, and so she could ask me to prom. I said ‘ok,’ even though I knew I wouldn’t show up. I think somewhere deep inside, she knew I wouldn’t come, either.
S is also for soulmates. That’s what we were, right from the start. We always were bigger than this life, and I think that’s part of the reason we just couldn’t really be together. We were too perfect for each other. And that sort of perfection just wasn’t meant to exist.
T is for t-shirt, the one she made for me that said “LEBANESE.” When I refused to wear it she snapped, “Clearly you don’t love you as much as I do, or you’d put this shirt on and dance with me.” She always accepted me completely, regardless of whatever.
V is for Valentine’s Day. I was having a really bad day, but when Rachel Berry sang Katy Perry’s Firework and B stood up, took my hand and asked me to dance, all my troubles seemed to fade away. She was always there for me.
X is for the little ‘x’ kisses she used to finish her text messages with. She still does. I feel like laughing and crying whenever I see them.
1311 The number of words in this piece, a last, wistful look at the relationship that meant the world to me. The relationship that melted the icy covering of my heart and taught me how it was to love another person more than I loved myself. The relationship that slipped through our fingers despite our intentions and wishes, plans and dreams.
A love that was so real, but never came to be.