The four years that I’ve known you, you have not had a great impact on my life. In class, you sat behind me, enjoying the thrill of being a grade older. On occasion I had to dodge out of the way of your trombone slide in Jazz Band. This was our relationship for 3 years. I thought you were funny, a nice young man but in retrospect, you were nothing more than Jacob’s best friend. I was naught but Jacob’s apprentice. I doubt I mattered much to you either. We didn’t matter to each other.
It’s amazing how a change in scenery can change your whole life, even who you are as a person. I still can’t grasp how I can love you so holey and so deeply at my young age of 14. You’ve, we’ve all grown so much since we met. You have gotten taller, skinnier, your cheekbones more chiseled. I’ve grown taller, curvier, but I’m not beautiful. The only times I’ve been loved, I kept waiting for the bottom to fall out and it always did. You though, you were a conundrum. An enigma. Loving you feels neither right, nor sensible and yet I can’t stop. I find everything you do fascinating. I find everything you say beautiful and clever. I found last night that I couldn’t stop staring at you or looking for your lanky gait as you marched in uniform across the field. I couldn’t stop wishing on every red car that passed by that I could have you. I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my phone, wishing to talk to you.
And I couldn’t stop glaring down at Bethany, who you seemed so very very close with, and who I know thought you handsome.
I wish I wasn’t so jealous, because then I might not be so afraid of you. I may not be beautiful, but I find myself calling Bethany the most horrible names in my head to make myself feel better. While she is heavy set, demanding and doesn’t take care of her skin, she is funny and really likes you. But I keep plugging away. Through every open door I can find, through every thing we have in common, through everything she doesn’t have that we do, every opportunity I get to text you. I always plan out what I’m going to say, like a Language Arts essay. Clever, but suggestive, cute but attractive. I have a fucking theory Wyatt. The quality and quantity of the conversations you two have often strike all the hope out of me, I become convinced you are in love with her, even though to the majority of teenagers, her appearance would not be pleasant, you are the kind of guy that would never care about a girls appearance if it was even important to you at all. And that worries me, because I don’t want you to like Bethany. And then I feel horrible, like I’ve betrayed her, because she is my dearest friend.
I’ve seen this in every bad movie ever made, but in those movies the girls were gorgeous and smart and confident and fearless. But now I feel as though I’m trying to push a boulder up a mountain and can’t get any traction. For Bethany, everything she says and does is perfectly orchestrated and timed, always making you smile or nod in agreement. But still, I feel as though I shouldn’t give up, even if I should, I’m not going to. Though I am at a young and tender age and most people underestimate the intelligence of my age group, among other things, I truly love you Wyatt and I will not give up on you, no matter how badly my heart breaks or how how much you and Bethany talk. You and I would be beautiful together and I will not follow you, badger you, or even tell you how I feel yet, my first goal is to become your friend. Hey, the underdog always wins in the movies, so why can’t I?