You know, already, before I ever say anything, that I’m a wimp. It’s no wonder I’m a Bantam–I’ve always been a little chicken. I’m a wimp because I can’t tell you that I’m so sorry I was such an asshole in high school and wouldn’t admit that I was ass over teakettle in love with you the whole time. I remember spending all of New Year’s senior year wondering if you would try to kiss me, and feeling an odd kind of disappointment when you didn’t. The disappointment, I think, was because I was too much of a stuck-up dweeb in high school to admit that we were perfectly compatible despite the fact that ninety-nine out of one-hundred people polled on the streets would say you’re not good-looking enough for me.
The idea that that kind of logic ever struck me as, well, logical makes me feel like I’m going to barf, because now I almost feel like it’s too late, because now, even though I’m not too much of an asshole to admit that we’re perfect for each other, I am too much of an asshole to date you. The truth is that I’m so terrified to fuck up our friendship that I can’t think about dating you. I’m too afraid that we’d break up, and I’d lose you altogether, and that’s why we can’t be together. I mean, we can’t be together right now.
Because every time you make a joke about getting married, I say my name with your last name in my head, just to make sure it sounds okay. And it does, just to let you know. It’s not the best name combination, sound-wise, but it’s my favorite so far. The idea of being married to you and having little kids with alien hands and weird stomach problems that I don’t fully understand is awesome. I secretly freaked out a little a while ago when you said you told a flight attendant that Meredith was your girlfriend to switch seats, mostly because the idea of you being anybody’s boyfriend sucks to me. Not that I don’t want you to be happy with someone. I just want you to end up with me so badly that I hate the thought of you being with someone else in the meantime.
What if you fall in love with someone else, and you don’t love me anymore? I mean, honestly, I don’t even know if you love me like that anymore, since I was such a wretched douche senior year, but the arrogant part of me wants to think that you do. The way you look at me sometimes, I convince myself that I can see something else, something sad, something a lot like hurt in your eyes, hurt that I’m in love with the whole goddamned world except for you. But what you don’t know is that I am in love with you. I’ll always be in love with you, and, kid, I’ve always been in love with you. You’ve got a special piece of my heart, down at the bottom, where it can never break. You might hear about my heartbreaks, my triumphs, my hookups and disaster dates, but it’s only because I want you to know what you’re up against.
You know me, I’m always a fan of a fair fight. So, start fighting. Give me a little while, and I’ll let you win. Hell, I’ve been actively stopping myself from kissing you every time we’re “platonically” snuggling in bed for the past six months. Give me a rest already, will you?
All of my love, always and forever.
Till the bitter end.