Letters I'll Never Send - #3 (inconsequential spur of the moment because I was bored edition)

Hey.

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this now, I have a lot of things I need to do. It's probably because I was facebook stalking you earlier. Whoops. My bad.

So I don't know what I did. And it really bugs me. I say it doesn't, but it eats at me, and I need to know. I'm tempted to apologize, but there's no way I'm apologizing for something if I don't even know what I did that was wrong. If anything.

I know this is silly, as little time as I spent with you, but I miss you. Not that aching sort of miss that I'm all too familiar with now; you don't merit that. But I'll think about it sometimes when I spot you, think about a conversation we had, or a movie you said we'd watch, or a comic I need to give you, and it just digs at me. Because it's stupid. This silence is stupid. What are you playing at here?

Whatever. You're not even my priority anymore. Though I really don't think you ever were. But you don't need to know that.

I just have to know what happened.

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Letters I'll Never Send - #2

(I'm not sure how I feel about this being my 200th post, but there you have it. This is the edited version of an actual hand-written letter I wrote earlier today.)

Dear T.,

I'm pretty sure you don't read this thing, so here I am posting it. Just like I'm pretty sure the first copy won't find its way into your mailbox. I've forgotten your address for the time being, anyway, though I'm sure I have it somewhere.

I suppose I could be writing to the people behind the card and letter I've received over the past week, but this is more important to me right now.

I miss you.

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. It disappoints me that we don't talk as much as we once did, or even could. To be entirely honest with you, which is my aim, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that something will slip out in conversation, and then it will be too late to erase, or go back, or even to think things through one last time. I could say to forget about it, but that doesn't mean you will. I know I wouldn't.

I'm also afraid of the ramifications. I know we're not as close as we used to be, but our friendship is still important to me. The memory of it all... well, I wouldn't be able to handle it if everything fell apart because of me.

So I'm writing this letter. I thought about going back and writing it in the notebooks, but that didn't seem like such a good idea after all. No sense in disturbing the past with the burdens of the present.

Though I suspect, in hindsight, that what I'm mulling over in my head is tied into the past just as much as it belongs to the now. I remember things we said, did, things we wrote. I told you everything, or very nearly. You were mine.

And then you weren't.

Back then, I never figured myself a jealous person. It's almost amusing, how wrong I was at the time.

But then again, what did I know about anything, prepossessing high schooler that I was?

So we drifted, but I carried on. I had other things to worry about--that year was hell. I trust you remember. And then it was finally over, and we drifted apart even more, though this time due to circumstances beyond our control. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Then something changed, another link in a long chain of events. Funny how it works out that way.

I've changed. You've changed, I can tell when we talk. Not very much, but it's there all the same.

So I find myself in a bit of a predicament. Okay, a big predicament, though one I'm used to, so that's a good thing. Even if it doesn't make it any less annoying or pressing.

I'm not sure what it is that I want to do.

I'm not sure if I want to just leave things the way they were, or if I should press forward. Or if I should stay in this limbo, hoping it goes away. Though I've been reminded recently that it rarely goes away, whatever the problem happens to be. It rarely goes away if I pretend everything is fine. It only gets worse.

I'm over-thinking this, aren't I? Well, you know me... It's a bad habit.

Anyway, I better end this here before I start rambling again. I hope you're doing well.

Love always,
L.

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Letters I'll Never Send - #1 (gmail chat edition)

Hi.

Long time no talk.

I don't even remember what you look like. Not really. Just the idealized version my brain cooked up years ago.

I think it's interesting that in my boredom, I decided to say hello; even more interesting that, though I've been over you for a while, my heart still hammered as I contemplated typing those two letters and pressing 'Enter', even more so as I did exactly that.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I've grown accustomed to seeing your name in the sidebar, though sometimes, it still shocks me.

I hear nothing but my music. I don't expect you to respond.

I'm wondering about your life. How college is treating you. If you're still majoring in music. If it's true that you've joined the Marines.

Pacifist though I am, I'm a sucker for uniform.

I think about the dream I had at the end of last year, the one with the fire, and the long car ride. How you were there, but intangible. I could sense you; you'd appear, fleeting. I think about the first, two Decembers before.

After a while, the dreams bleed into each other. A while more, and they start to fade.

It's funny that so much of my personal happiness, my very sanity hinged on you when I don't even know if you really acknowledged my existence. It's funny that I even considered you for an option.

I wonder if I'm doomed to keep to this pattern, like so many times before you.

I pause in my writing and wondering to check; you're gone.

Silence. I knew you wouldn't respond.

I'm pretty sure I never wanted you to.

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