A Letter I’ll Never Send

Dear B.B.W.,

I think I’m going insane. I think I’m in love. Is there truly a difference, Lady Aphrodite, or will I need therapy? I can’t help myself imagining you in instances I didn’t know I’d ever want, yet suddenly I want to kiss you in the rain. Suddenly I want to watch the sunset, hold hands in a corn maze, throw flour at one another, and receive flowers on my birthday. In second grade, I swore an oath to never have crushes on stupid boys. I wonder what that girl would say to me now, gawking over the tall nerd. I’ve tried to get over myself but I can’t handle just being your friend. I want something more. I need it.

I remember when we first met. You were the new boy in Third Grade who could barely spell his name. I’ve always been the smart one to sit in the front and get straight As. You weren‘t meant to be on my radar at all, but I immediately grew such a crush on you. I thought you were the coolest person in the world, and embarrassingly enough, I wrote about you in my unicorn diary. The second I got to know you, though, I swore to myself I’d watch you go home crying. You chased me all over the playground, you never let me win tag, and you would always make fun of my dresses. Younger me would be fuming at the turn of events my heart pushes. You still tease me everyday and never let me get the last word in. Whenever an “I hate you!” spills from my lips, you just give me a smirk and tell me you love me. It makes me want to strangle you, but I can’t. I can’t bring myself to hate you, because no matter how hard I try to get up, I always end up falling again.

I can’t get over your eyes. I tell everybody about them, you know. I find myself drifting into them from across the room, watching as they brighten when you speak of something you love. Is it a foolish daydream, or could they light up at my name one day? Oh, I feel so immature when I think of them when I think of the vast, rainforest leaves they imitate, or when I think of the rows of wildflowers who blow on a valley ridge. Oh, how your eyes glisten like concert lights or a vintage arcade game. I want to pass each level and discover each secret they hold. I want to look into your eyes and discover each struggle, success, and secret they keep so hidden from this cruel world.

Oh, and your freckles! I want to memorize each place they live on your pale, warm face. I want to trace across them with my fingertips, smiling into your sweet, soft arms. Your freckles remind me of chocolate chips rising on a fresh-baked muffin. Each is a new surprise set for me to discover, and I pray for your hand in this journey.

Why did you have to have fluffy hair? Why did you have to have such enchanting curls, such lovable waves? My fingers beg me to run across your scalp and mess up your beautiful locks. Cold, chocolate ice cream hair, yet my cheeks and ears still burn under your gaze. What have you done to me?

Too much, got say the least. I catch myself holding pillows, pretending- no, praying- that it could be you. I catch myself picking out every imperfection across my body and interests, wondering if I’ll ever be good enough for somebody like you. I imagine us in love songs, in romantic Pinterest photos, or in the books that I read. I never understood what my friends meant by “butterflies”. Perhaps it’s because the previous people I’ve “loved” never gave me any, but you sure do. I can’t eat, sleep, or talk without your name causing those terrible butterflies to whisper sweet nothings into my ear. They follow me everywhere: in each hug, accidental touch, or the slightest of conversations. What have you done to me?

Love, . The Girl Down the Hall