I have a million things to say, and no idea where to start.
I guess I should start with how this letter came to be. I shall say that this is the first letter in which I address you by your actual name. It seems fitting. That is considering that this is probably my last letter to you. It seems fitting to address you by name at least once.
That aside, I want to tell you a little more about my letters, which I have not cared to do before. I like to write letters to people in my diary, instead of to nobody. I express my feelings to everyone. I say the things that I would never say aloud. Well, I have written numerous letters to you since the start of the eighth grade. They all came to me naturally, although in quite unorganized ways. That was fine, though. I got everything out, and they always felt right. Yet, this last letter never seems to come out right. I have written it dozens of times, both on paper and in my head. Every time, it just sounds wrong. I think that I have been overthinking this letter. Thus, this is the last copy that I will write to you. Officially, this is the very last letter I will ever write to you.
Knowing that, I ask that you allow me time to talk. I will try to keep this short, but I make no promises.
Shall I tell you about why this is my last letter to you? I suppose I shall.
Maybe it would help to know that I am writing this on May 15, 2012. The year is coming to a close, I think I’ve left so many ends loose. Most of them with you and Cole. I really hate the feel of that. Yet, maybe I should leave it as so? It’s unlikely we’ll see each other again. I’m sure you’d be more than thrilled to be rid of me. I see it in your attitude. Then again, I was never good at reading people. I do so hope I’m wrong.
Man, now that this has come, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to make this a pity thing. I don’t want pity. I want understanding. Funny that this is the only way I can talk to you. Why? Well, you obviously have better things to do.
Funny that I don’t have any letters for Cole. I can always talk to him. I think I’ve left everything said. What do you suppose that means? Is that good or bad, and for who?
Man, I’m rambling. I guess I’m just nervous. Yeah, what are the odds that you’ll get this? Yet, I can’t bear the thought of your hypothetical responses, and I suppose it’s better to say these things rather than leave them unsaid.
You want to know why I’m always so nervous to talk? Well, it’s because I fawn over you, and you know it, and you aren’t exactly kind. Well, you are in theory. When we emailed, you were. In person? Well, you’ve never tried to make me feel better about my musical playing, that much is for sure, although I guess it was never expected of you. It was just wished. Other than that, I think it was just the things you never said. Yet, you were always polite, enough to make me hate you for not giving me a good reason to give up on you.
Have you ever had this feeling? If so, can you tell me if it sucked this much? What makes it worse is the girls. There’s always a girlfriend, and I’m always jealous. How stupid is this, me being jealous and lovesick and the likes? How stupid, at this point in life. In another ten years, I’ll forget you, maybe. The probability, the thought, of it makes me sad, to forget my first real crush. My first crush to nurture over three wonderful and heart wrenchingly beautifully painful years.
Funny that, when I finally manage to write to you in a natural and real way, that this is what comes out. Funny that I should leave you with this, this emotional talk. Well, I guess there was no avoiding something like this in a diary letter. I wonder what you would say, how you reject the implications of this letter. I simply wonder, and then I ponder the thought of my dreams. Funny that I had a dream the night Caleb asked me out, the night after my birthday, which I suppose you apparently remembered. He kissed me in my dream and then asked me out. Sure, it didn’t happen that way, but he still asked me out. I don’t know what that was, because I’ve dreamt of you many times and I don’t think anything special will come of it.
You know, it’s even funnier that Emily once told me that we would make a cute couple. Should you get this letter, don’t tell her that I said that. Who knows what she would say to me.
Well, what else is there to leave you with? My parting regrets that you were one of two real friends I had, one that left after I stumbled and failed and got rejected? My apologies for ever starting the whole mess, for ever talking to you? I don’t know what to leave you with, because you’ll probably forget it all over the summer, or over the next year, or over the next several years. I don’t know how much or how little time you need to forget me, but I wish you could look at me a little longer, just so I can engrave you memory into my mind.
This sucks. Did you know that? Should I say it, or should I leave the implications?
I don’t know. I doubt it matters, for what are the odds that this should fall into your hands? What are the odds that this should ever fall under your gaze?
One last thing that suddenly came to me. Something that you should know.
If I could ask you out again, redo that embarrassing moment when Cooper helped me get the courage to get it right the time I asked Cole, I wouldn’t have done it. Why? Because you surround yourself with girls. Believe it or not, I’ve asked several, and almost every one has liked you at some point in time. That’s not for me. Based on your history, that crap just isn’t for me. I can’t handle someone who always has a girlfriend or is always around people who are all over him, who will walk away for good when he leaves.
But you know what, I’m not too sad. By the end of this letter, I think I’m happy. Well, not happy, just content with life. Despite everything about eighth grade that has fucked up my life, I know that my life isn’t even half over. You were right in your email, if you remember. I’ll find someone. Or maybe no one. I don’t know yet. But thanks for a thrilling, nerve-racking, sleepless three years. I’ll try not to forget this middle school years that I so dearly treasure now. Funny that there’s still three weeks left of school. Or is that four? Well, I hope this doesn’t come up, not that you’ll know. I just don’t know if I could handle it without freezing up or running away. Is that all I can do?
Well, whatever. I’ll not dwell on that. The pain and fear aren’t good. What’s good is moving on. Besides, I think I’m fine with my close friendship with Cole, and my hypothetical relationship with Hugh, and the relationship Keating wants me to have with Eric. Mostly Cole, and I guess memories.
Wow, I dragged this on longer than expected. I suppose there was no helping it. I never know when to shut up. Remember, if you ever get the urge to ask me out, I’d say yes a million times.
Just kidding. The urge won’t come, and I won’t have to say yes a million times. Just remember that I’ll always be cool with what we had.
Oh, and if I do send this to you, save me the embarrass me. I suppose this sappy stuff isn’t for guys, but you were always fine. You never scolded me. And I promise I won’t make a fool of myself by doing this with other guys, so save me any lectures you may have. But I do suppose it would show who’s really serious enough to at least be a friend of mine.
I think I should shut up now, for real. All steam is out, and I might actually give this to you, because I think it’s better to leave it between us than to leave it here where I’ll wish I had sent it. Haha, well, you’ve dealt with this shit before, though I must say this letter is much deeper than the first.
Okay okay, I’m done.
Thanks for everything,
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