3 Minutes between Dundas and Wellesley

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A Letter

Submitted: September 26, 2018

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Submitted: September 26, 2018

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I hope you didn't think I was awkward. I told you I had a photo shoot that morning, and I told you I needed to go. And I did, but I could've waited a few more seconds — to get your number, to invite you for coffee, to honestly tell you how I felt, for once. I think we met at Dundas and I had a clean 3 minutes to work out the best version of myself before I left at Wellesley — it wasn't enough. The blitz of the train was slower than my words, I'm certain. But you looked good. You looked great. Onto bigger things and brighter places — that's cliché, but no less true. Studying abroad, collaborating with incredible minds, building your life. I remember how we used to talk about film, about art, about music. Your compassion was as impressive as your taste, and I never forgot that. I can't believe it'd been 5 years since I hugged you last. Your eyes were the same. Midnight blue, like the Earth. I could only be so lucky.

But I know it's not completely real. It's foggy glass, and I can just make out the shape of your face. I know you never really read my message, though you were sweet to me anyways. I guess I can't really describe what it feels like to slowly fall for someone, but I didn't know until we said goodbye 5 years ago. I thought I'd never see you again, but I accepted that I could never be that person to you. And in my obvious youth, in the drying air of that day, I puffed my chest, pushed it away, and let it disappear. 

But then there I was, standing outside your train, wondering where this feeling had been for so long. Maybe I was lonely, or maybe I didn't realize how deeply I cared about you. It doesn't matter, I just wanted to be honest. I wanted to write, but I can't write that. I wanted to call, but I'm afraid I'd put some awkward pressure on you. I needed it to come from you, but I know it can't. And that's ok — I'm not trying to destroy myself or anything. It just feels strange to find something you never lost, and then feel like you've lost it again. It's familiar — I've never not been the boy in the rain. But your warmth — it always found a way through. I wish I could hold onto that. I wish I could remember the crease of your smile forever, but each day it fades a little. 

These words have no power, no gale, no pigment or fragment of sound. They float to the highest, emptiest peak to become stardust, to become fragrance. Without you, but with all of me. 

I miss you.


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