So you might be wondering one of the following:
a) “Wtf is this shit and why am I reading it?”
b) “Is this a cringy love letter?”
c) “Welcome to your tape, Zach.”
d) “Why is whoever is writing this making lists of what my reaction is?”
And to be honest, there’s no real reason to remain anonymous. Who else would actually take their time to sit down and pour their angsty emotions into a few pages of paper?
Exactly. There’s only one person you know who does such thing as a hobby.
Now, I’m not writing this down at 1am in the morning because I am just in tHAT mood.
Well, not really.
It’s a certain fragment that has been bugging my entire soul for years, and no matter how hard I try, it is incapable of leaving me alone.
I’ve been planning and urging myself to finally tell you this for a period of a few months on my own. There is no way I can tell Princess, because the only thing she’ll do is say “I knew it all along” and start acting like she knows me better than myself.
So this may or may not be categorized as a love letter. Kill me.
In my defense, I’m too socially awkward to tell you upfront;
I like you.
And, okay, before you start shouting “WHAT THE F*CK” on the top of your lungs-
Yes. I bet you’re angry when you read those three words.
I bet you felt surprised.
Or maybe relieved?
Or maybe you already have you phone in hand, prepared to call me about this.
But hold on.
You know why I never told you, despite every chance I could?
Despite how I said I never would?
Because I stand by the fact that this would be a repeat of two years ago when I first told you that I really, really liked you.
A cloud of cringe and chaos and destruction.
Unwanted tears and me having unrealistic expectations of you.
And you have unrealistic expectations of me as well.
I know that we’ve matured since then, that now I have come to the understanding that you do not deserve someone like me. That the me of two years ago would be cheering on the bleachers for the fact that you and I have become best friends.
I have learnt to hide my feelings more properly, into a neatly tucked facade of anger and fear of you leaving me because no one else but you understood how my mind worked.
How you said the same to me.
It’s impossible to fall for you, dumb fuck.
I guess my aunt was right when she said I express more when I’m writing it down than when I express verbally. You and I both now I can never be able to tell you this in your face.
Yes, I am well aware of how annoying I am, appearance based or otherwise.
I know I am unable to comfort you because I have no idea what to say or do, because I am nervous of your vulnerable state, so I just pat your shoulder like a stranger.
I know I am not the best at being a nice person, but that’s just how I am.
I know I am too straight forward, especially when in conversation with you.
I know I am too awkward when I try to be social with others.
I know that I get offended or annoyed too easily when I am in a bad mood.
I know that I act like I don’t care about you, when you are one of the only people I do care about.
I know that I am not beautiful, nor am I thin and curvy.
I know that you will never be able to like me back.
And that’s okay.
Because the point of this letter was to just to tell you how I feel to get it off my chest.
This isn’t a desperate plea for you to love me, at all.
Because, you dork, I know you do already.
But not in the way me from two years ago had always prayed for.