As you know, I’m taking French. Literally, one of the first phrases someone asked our teacher to translate was “I love you”. At first, he didn’t answer, probably because he’s a smart man who’s been through life and has taught enough high school students to realize that to them, “I love you” applies to so many things that don’t fit into what love used to be, what it’s supposed to be. It’s used in sarcastic comments, or something that’s said to quickly and too often. Still, we teenagers are stubborn; and so the question was asked again, and again, and he finally answered us the other day. Let me reinforce the fact that our teacher, despite the fact that he isn’t overly liked, is a smart man. He gave us two answers. Je t’adore (when I end up teaching you a bit more of french, you’ll no doubt ask me about this too, just because it’s a question everyone asks. and you’ll realize that the literal translation is not what we asked for; again, isn’t he smart?)
and j’aime; as he put it, I like like you.
And, as you’ve said, I am the “smart one” I know I don’t know what love is; I know I’m not going to know anytime soon, but I know this feeling in my heart, that tugs at my gut and makes me feel…just feel. So much more than usual. I’m a thinker, not a feeler. But you make me feel more than I’ve ever felt for a guy. Usually, I just talk myself out of crushes. and last year, when we had Spanish together, I did that. I decided being your friend was more important to me that mooning after you like a love sick puppy. and that worked. until you walked up to me before school started and hugged me. and in that instant, my heart goes ‘thump, thump, trip, thumpthump’
French is the language of love, and I can understand why. it describes what I feel so well; or at least, it helps me describe what I feel for you.
Je t’aime. my translation: I love you as a friend, but I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.
I’m a junior. You are two years my senior and you will be graduating this year. I know that, but I still want this year and whatever days more with you.
But you’re a smart one two. And you know what you want. And I know from class ‘debates’ last year that we hardly agree on things, and I’m 99% sure you would consider girls and/or a girlfriend a distraction. You know what you want, and I know you’re going to get it. But don’t you see that I would compliment you? I know what I want, I know most of my time is taken up by classes and most of your time is split between school and soccer; but I’d be happy to squeeze into your free moments. I’d understand if you were too busy or tired to hang out and do relationshipy stuff.
I just want you to get to your first class five minutes early so you can catch my as I walk out of zero period and we simply hug. I want that with you. I want more than just hour long text conversations that make me feel like I have a chance with you; that make me hope and plead that you might like me at least a fraction of what I feel for you.
AND I’M NOT LIKE THIS. I’m crying, in the dark, writing this, waiting for your next text so that I can ask you some significant, if stupid either/or question when really, I want to ask you; would you go out with me or not? Or even do I have a chance? And really, I kinda just figured out that I don’t. You wouldn’t share your sour patch with me at a movie.
Thus the crying and the dark room and the need to express. I’m not like this. The other day in English, I wanted to doodle your name with hearts all over a page, but at the same time, the idea repulsed me. Who was I to do something so juvenile? So kindergarden? It was idiotic and not myself and even while I knew this to the inner most core of me, I still entertained the idea. Instead I just compromised and wrote in big block letters I LIKE YOU and started filling them in with the way I feel. I want to tell you; but I’m afraid. You’re friendship means so much to me, despite the fact that we only ever ‘talk’ via txt since schools started.
You’re always gonna be the guy who shared Panama with me. You’re always going to be the one with the weird shaped face that I find utterly…fascinating.
You’re always going to be tall and too skinny for my taste; don’t you think I know I’m too muscled for you? My biceps are bigger than yours and my jeans would probably sag on you.
I know I’m not fat, but I also know our body types aren’t nearly similar. I know you’re not what I thought of as the ideal physique but I just don’t give a fuck. At least, not enough to make me not like you. And everything is just so…teenager-y now. I may be in High School but I’m not like this. I use big words without realizing it, and I, the girl who skipped the 8th grade. The smart one. And yet, teenage hormones are each juvenile’s downfall, no? What I’m trying to say is…