Prose

VII

Letter to myself

He's nothing special, believe me. He's definitely not a perfect ten, trust me. He's a bit off at times and he's not the strongest or the fastest or the funniest.

But there's a sparkle in his eyes when he laughs that makes you want to smile along. There's a jump in his step that makes you wish you could walk so close next to him you'd bump hips and maybe tangle your fingers together just a little. There's a spike in the tone of his voice when he gets excited and nervous and it sounds like fingernails against chalkboards, but it's beautiful all the same.

He'll avoid you for two months and pretend you never existed but you'll chase after him like a dog after a car. You won't realize how stupid you sound until you accidentally admit to your friends that, yes, you love him. He'll find you online in January and you'll strike up three conversations, from short to shorter to shortest until he fades away for the next few weeks.

He won't speak to you until April and even then you won't know what to say. He'll act like he cares about you until you're abandoned for seven months, not sparing a hello or goodbye. He'll tell you happy birthday in October but deny knowing you only hours before. Then he won't find you until Christmas then leave you on January again.

It's March. It's March seventeen months later and he doesn't love you. He's not going to love you in eighteen months or nineteen months or twenty or twenty one and that's all you have left. It's March.

The flowers are growing out again and the sun is beating down. We're out on the roof again and barefoot races are bound to begin. We're about to stop wearing coats and boots and our lockers will get empty. The cap and gown pictures will finally be ours to show and we'll be out and about in mere weeks.

Dammit it's March and there are three months left and he hasn't spoken to you in two. He won't love you.

But it hurts. I won't lie. It hurts.

You won't realize how much you really love him until he hands you the math book you left on his desk. You won't realize until you accidentally yell at him. Or until he sits at your desk and you need to get a book. Or until he screams your name. You won't realize just how much you adore his very existence until he completely leaves you out to dry in the hot summer sun, all alone with a hole in your heart. He'll get a girlfriend, three actually. You won't cry once but there will be an actual pain in your heart, physical pain. That's when you realize.

You realize he isn't temporary, he isn't a phase. His voice will be your favorite sound and his skin your favorite feel. He'll have the prettiest eyes and the softest hair and the broadest shoulders to match. He can't dance for his life or speak in actual sentences without sarcasm. He's just like you. He has the most beautiful scent and the perfect height and pretty freckles and glasses centered around his slightly pointed nose. He'll wear black all the time and it'll contrast his skin and you'll find him beautiful.

Beautiful.

His broken sentences will sound like the sweetest music and his frame like a perfect work of art. His flawed face will act like haphazard pencil strokes on paper that turn to an unintentional picture. His little imperfections will lose their im- and you won't be able to hate anything he does.

You'll chase and chase and chase.

But it's all worth it, right? It'll be worth it when his voice bounces around your head and swirls into pretty pictures, right? All you'll want in life is to hear your name on his perfectly pink lips resonating through every red vein in your broken body. It'll be worth it, I swear.

I hope.

He's nothing special, believe me. But also believe me when I say you'll find something in him, no matter how deep you have to dig. You'll find something to love.

Because believe me; he's the most special thing that will ever happen to you.

March 19, 2014 11:46pm