proof that nothing ‘productive’ happens after 2 AM

*nervous laughter*

photo from parisapartment.wordpress.com –

To the MAN of my dreams (literally),

Often I wonder why I can see you better with my eyes closed, when sandman’s dust has me under its spell. Does it mean I’m incapable of welcoming you- any semblance of you- into my days as much as my nights? Maybe I have- once- but you never came or worse, you did but decided to break my heart.

Truly I was never romantic. Just the mere suggestion of the word makes me cringe but some part of me, most likely the part I suppressed so purposefully that it can only haunt me in my slumber, still believes you too are somewhere wondering where I am.

When (or if) our paths finally cross, know that I’m not expecting a walking checklist or somebody’s reinterpretation of perfect. I’m a rebel that way.

I don’t have many delusions of love or relationships or forever because some time ago my dad sat me down and told me how loving someone is messy and consuming and scary and … real. There won’t be a fairy godmother to ward off  vile creatures (you know what I mean- the slutty kind) or a magic wand to make the other eternally agreeable to my every whim. It will take work. Trust me, I get that.

If I may, I ask that you be patient with me. I’ve been hurt a lot you see- mostly by people I trusted blindly. I may ignore you, only take a second to look at you or push you away completely but if you see a future with me, hang in there. I assure you I ALWAYS notice. Soon enough  you’ll win me over if you haven’t already.

When I close my eyes, I imagine waking up to a faint burnt smell from the kitchen where you tried to cook us breakfast. Teasing you about your little mishap and you feigning hurt will be our morning’s humor. I’ll laugh at ALL your jokes and be your biggest cheerleader on every game even if you don’t ever leave the bench. You’ll indulge my reading habits and my obsessive need to collect comic books. You even find my inability to ride a bike or serve a volleyball charming.

We’d spend lazy afternoons in our sweats watching a movie or playing Call of Duty. Together we’d pursue our passions and be happy for each other’s every accomplishment. We’ll never forget to say sorry or leave a fight unresolved. I’ll learn to give you space when you ask for it but never be too far for when you need a hug or a kiss or just someone to assure you it’s all gonna be okay. Other people’s opinions about us won’t matter because I care more about you than them anyway. We’ll be each other’s best friend and we’ll grow up, be silly, see the world and be happy together.

I don’t expect our relationship to be perfect like the fairy tales I used to read or like the romcoms my sister quotes all the time. I’d rather have one that’s real and yes, messy and imperfect and at times, difficult but it will be ours and that’s so much better. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be waiting. I just know you’re worth it. For now, I’ll see you in my dreams.

Still metaphorically sleeping,

Yours

unmailed letter

I read somewhere, sometime ago that bottled emotions especially for other people are best written then kept. That way you get to rid yourself of all the tension; you’re able to express what you truly feel without the possibility of hurting someone else. So I did that.

 I guess that may be the reason why I wanna come clean, to dispense myself of this secret. It’s just too heavy to carry around and you know I wanna go places.

Writing down each word is therapy in itself. It almost feels like I’m talking to him without feeling the compulsion to constantly reword everything, so it doesn’t offend him, so it fits his standards, so it lives up to mine. I could just finally say it and not be sorry I did.

I could sit here all day long and come up with the perfect excuse, the most reasonable one, why I never said anything and decided everyday to stay mum but the truth is I was scared. And you know me, I am seldom scared.

After every word has gone and I have exhausted all I wanted to say, a part of me feels guilty that he will never get to read it. It’s like when a guy likes a girl so much but has decided to be a secret admirer, leaving roses on her doorstep and poetry in her locker. Although he’s so scared for fear of rejection, a part him just wants to come clean and tell her in person because there’s still no substitute for an actual real life conversation with her- not even his imagined romantic day with her. Well, I feel that way. Because more than the frustration I wrote are truths that a part of me believes he deserves to know.

I’m not sure if were meant to be friends for the rest of our lives. I’m not even sure if we’d have each other’s number in 5 years but I’d like this letter to remind you (and in a strange telepathic way remind me) that while I pen these words, you mean so much to me. You’ve made a big impact on my life and I will forever admire the way you chose to live your life- uncompromising and full of integrity.

Even as I type this entry out I still haven’t decided whether I should mail him the letter or not. If I don’t mail it, I still have successfully accomplished my mission to dispense myself of all that I have to say to him without having to feel embarrassed about whatever else I wrote. If I do, we might need to talk about and right now I’m sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I guess maybe I was hoping by the end of this entry I’d finally know what to do but still, nothing.