Dear you;



I hate that I love you. This clichéd line has been repeated countless times, and alas, usually one who is against clichés; here I am, using it for what seems like the hundredth time today. The fact of the matter is that it can’t be put any simpler. I could go into a whole detailed letter about how I realize that I shouldn’t love you; I don’t deserve to love you. I realize I had my shot and I blew it. Heck, I could write a book on all the regrets I have. I count them frequently. I could retell my countless nights of agony in which I would lie awake convincing myself I don’t like you anymore. And then 3rd period would roll around, and in a single joke, a quick wink, it would become wasted time before I could even try to hide my smile. I am weak; I fall apart, every time. The fact is undeniable and yet every day I try to deny it. I might speak of how it drives me crazy when you smile, and how you say my name. I don’t care if you are yelling at me; I won’t care if you’re insulting me. Just the fact that you are still talking to me is a true wonder in itself. Every day I discover new things that I don’t understand. Like how I can possibly fall for someone who is in love with my best friend. I might be inclined to ask you if you know that you make my day, even when I know I am hardly the highlight of yours. Can you see right through me, or am I a good magician? Concealing my feelings; it’s not hard. You make it easy. You make me forget. I can’t stay mad at the world when you are sitting there across from me. So close, yet so far. Those 43 minutes of pure unfiltered happiness lift me out of whatever funk the world has tossed me into that day. I have tried everything in the book. Chocolate, chick flicks, and other boys. But nothing makes this go away. But then I feel inclined to ask myself, do I really want it to go away? Does the hurt really outweigh the heal? You are so much sweeter than chocolate and make me laugh harder than the movies. Other boys are hotter, that’s for sure. (Why is it always the awkward ones that we end up liking?) But they can’t make me smile like you do. Lightning doesn’t shoot through my body when I hug them. It is a constant battle of my mind and of my heart. I don’t want to like you, but I do. And even when I try to accept the fact, it still bothers me. I hate how whenever I hear your name, my heart jumps. I hate how impossible you are to ignore. And furthermore, I hate knowing how horrible I treated you before this whole ‘issue’ began. You loved me and I shot you down. I stupidly let other things get in the way and I took you for granted. This brings me to another cliché, you never know what you’ve got until it’s gone. How true, how true. But I wasn’t going to write about my regrets. I could blame you. You have to be so darn charming. You could be obnoxious every once in a while, you know. Maybe not compliment my hair. You cruel tease, you. So darn perfect. I bring myself back to the focus of my letter. I hate that I love you. I could have Freddy or Chris… I could take Josh, or maybe Kyle. They all are patiently, hopelessly lost waiting in line and… oh, poor them, put on hold while I wait for someone that is never coming back. I hate how I keep holding on to a lie that I so desperately want to be the truth. You make my life so frustrating, if I could only let go! My nights would be peaceful and I could let those others into my life without the guilt. I can never be completely happy with anyone else simply because they are not you. And here I again, back where I started, hating that I love you. I’ve got so many things to love, and so many reasons that I shouldn’t. I could go into a whole letter about that, but I won’t bore you with the details. S’mores are much more interesting to talk about anyway.

Love,
Liar