….Nevermind, that sounds too formal.
Hey! it’s been a while,
….Nope, sounds creepy.
Will I ever send this? Will this ever reach the rest of the world? Will she be able to see it? I guess not. I’m still too shy, too embarrassed, lacking boldness and confidence in my ability to express these repressed “feelings.”
Dear God, just saying the damn word already feels so sappy and melodramatic. Why am I like this? Why is it so infuriatingly challenging to express these emotions to you? Why are you so unresponsive? Why was there such excruciatingly painful disdain directed towards me? Why were you so worried about the rumors surrounding us? You know they weren’t true. But they still pestered you; you were still flustered at the very thought.
It felt as though the very mention of my name was able to furrow your brow; it saddened you to the point of somberness, draining the youthful and lush energy from your face.
It’s been a year since then, the day that I realized what I had felt for you and I still can’t get over this loss: the loss not only of a friend but of a trusted partner, a companion. This was the loss of the first person to ever penetrate the stone and stucco walls of my heart; the first person that I truly felt a strong, loving compassion for.
I once thought that love–not the tough kind, the brotherly kind, the kind that is strengthened through fellowship–was a concept I would never truly grasp. What made it so that this emotion removed all precious logic and reason from one’s mind? But lo and behold, it is the east, and you were the sun.
I don’t know how you did it, but you did. I don’t know why it was so quick, but it was. A few months go by and I was “in love,” as they say. Although I tried to deny it–cue the song “I’m not in Love” by 10cc–I couldn’t deny how comfortable I felt around you. I couldn’t deny that with you, I was at ease. With you, it felt as though time slowed down, that everything became unimportant, that the only thing that mattered was you.
I’ll never forget how sweaty my palms became, or how I studied the features of your face, your palm, your hair. I was obsessed, obsessed over how we just clicked. Or at least I thought so.
One thing led to another, and it all fell apart. I fell apart too. Still trying to gather the pieces.
I’m amazed at how you just left the ordeal unscathed, unphased, unaffected. You just left me here to suffer. And I’m suffering alright. Maybe this is revenge?
Or maybe it this is some cruel joke; give the boy emotions then make him overwhelmed with them.
I can’t say your name–even if it isn’t directed at you, even if it isn’t you–without recalling the sheer amount of time spent together. The laughter, the sadness, the shared tears, the sheer amount of emotions.
My point is this: that as pathetic it as it may seem, I’m still heartbroken, although it’s not as bad, it’s still there; however, I still don’t know how to feel about this. All I know is that hidden among all the hatred, contempt and spite for you lies nothing but unadulterated burning desire.
I miss you, and everything about you.
Tell me, did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded?