My Last Day
Dear You,
You know who you are. I don't even know if you still read my journal. You said you could eat my words... I don't know if you'd just give up reading something that made you feel that way. At any rate, tomorrow's my last day and there's a good possibility that it will be the last time I ever see you. I'm writing this to let you know how I feel about that.
You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. I am jealous of every man who looks at you. Your perfect skin and long, dark hair still make my heart jump every time I see you. It always takes me a second to remember that I actually know you; that you aren't a complete stranger. Please don't think me a creep for saying this, but I miss your body. You were so easy to hold and it always felt right to touch you or be touched by you. I have never known you to be angry with anyone, not even me. That is truly a unique character trait, and I don't think I'll ever know anyone as genuinely kind as you again. You're so intelligent and easy to adore, I'll never understand why you seem so shy all the time.
I like to think of us, through my own distorted romanticizing, as star-crossed lovers -- as if it would have worked, but the timing just wasn't right and we just slipped by one another, because of various circumstances, and the moment was lost forever in time. It's probably just nonsense, but it's the kind of thing that could get me to write again.
Please do not misunderstand why I'm saying these things. I do not wish to be taken back. Even if you wanted me back, I don't think I could feel the same way about you again. What we had is done... it was my fault and you were right... but I'm still very fond of you. And I think I always will be; from afar. I would like us to keep in touch, at least in some small, infrequent way, or at most as friends who still visit one another when the mood takes them for a quiet, platonic night in with a movie. The thought of never seeing you again hurts, but if you aren't comfortable with any of that, I'll understand.
Look at me writing this at 1:30 AM. I feel a bit ridiculous. I wanted to talk to you tonight, but I just couldn't find the moment (or so I'll tell myself). I guess I'll always hide behind my written words, huh? We're all cowards, aren't we?
I miss you more than I'll ever admit, but I hope that you will always remember me fondly. You never look at me with contempt and it makes me wonder if you already do...
With conflicted, distant, hesitant and eternal dedication,
Will
P.S. Have fun in China. It's a rare opportunity, and I know you'll enjoy it.
I walked outside and watched the fireworks tonight. The concussive sounds made me imagine it was the end of the world. I nearly cried because it wasn't...
You know who you are. I don't even know if you still read my journal. You said you could eat my words... I don't know if you'd just give up reading something that made you feel that way. At any rate, tomorrow's my last day and there's a good possibility that it will be the last time I ever see you. I'm writing this to let you know how I feel about that.
You are the most beautiful person I have ever met. I am jealous of every man who looks at you. Your perfect skin and long, dark hair still make my heart jump every time I see you. It always takes me a second to remember that I actually know you; that you aren't a complete stranger. Please don't think me a creep for saying this, but I miss your body. You were so easy to hold and it always felt right to touch you or be touched by you. I have never known you to be angry with anyone, not even me. That is truly a unique character trait, and I don't think I'll ever know anyone as genuinely kind as you again. You're so intelligent and easy to adore, I'll never understand why you seem so shy all the time.
I like to think of us, through my own distorted romanticizing, as star-crossed lovers -- as if it would have worked, but the timing just wasn't right and we just slipped by one another, because of various circumstances, and the moment was lost forever in time. It's probably just nonsense, but it's the kind of thing that could get me to write again.
Please do not misunderstand why I'm saying these things. I do not wish to be taken back. Even if you wanted me back, I don't think I could feel the same way about you again. What we had is done... it was my fault and you were right... but I'm still very fond of you. And I think I always will be; from afar. I would like us to keep in touch, at least in some small, infrequent way, or at most as friends who still visit one another when the mood takes them for a quiet, platonic night in with a movie. The thought of never seeing you again hurts, but if you aren't comfortable with any of that, I'll understand.
Look at me writing this at 1:30 AM. I feel a bit ridiculous. I wanted to talk to you tonight, but I just couldn't find the moment (or so I'll tell myself). I guess I'll always hide behind my written words, huh? We're all cowards, aren't we?
I miss you more than I'll ever admit, but I hope that you will always remember me fondly. You never look at me with contempt and it makes me wonder if you already do...
With conflicted, distant, hesitant and eternal dedication,
Will
P.S. Have fun in China. It's a rare opportunity, and I know you'll enjoy it.
I walked outside and watched the fireworks tonight. The concussive sounds made me imagine it was the end of the world. I nearly cried because it wasn't...