I was writing this letter, something that I had been struggling with for a long time; because I’m complete shit at saying things straightforward. That is why I use metaphors, they make my messages so much more rose-colored than they actually are. There are more pressing letters to be written; however.
Dear girl with her hair in a ponytail,
Where do I begin? I have gone over every topic with you– complete existentialist shit to the color of your toenail polish for prom. Where do I begin, and where do I end? Perhaps it is too early to think of an ending just yet, but I will try to be frank, just this once.
In the mornings I look out from the corner of my eye wondering, I wonder what goes through her mind, because it had only been recently when I realized that you were as unhappy as I was; yet here you were, holding it together. In the mornings when people fill spaces and spaces fill people with emptiness in our boring, monotonous, life; I find something to keep me going– sometimes she has her hair in a ponytail. There are no words and no descriptions that I could pin over your heart that would illustrate the kindness it has shown me, there are no words and no descriptions for me to whisper into the wind how grateful I am that you have stuck around for what I’m beginning to think are my darkest days so far.
But I digress, and strip my words from comfortable extravagance.
We may indeed have our differences, but I think that’s what has made things so interesting thus far. I frustrate you, you frustrate me; yet we haven’t decided to set each other alight just yet. You know me so well, perhaps better than anyone will ever know me; and yet…here you stand. Firsthand knowledge tells me that simply reminding you that you are worth so much more than you think will not help, but I’ll do it again anyway.
We’re all confused, and we’re all a little bit sad.
And perhaps you may not notice this, but there is something about you that I think draws people to you. Maybe it’s the quiet intelligence (often overshadowed by terrible, terrible Filipino), maybe it’s the open hands, and open heart. I’m droning on.
What I mean to say is, every good thing that happens— you deserve it. You have carried my cross with me, let me take yours. I don’t know how much this would mean to you, but you have earned my allegiance like I can pledge to no other.
So, if you ever need someone with a little bit of missing conscience to set someone on fire?
You have someone to call.
I’m sorry I’ve been this way, and there are not enough thank yous or nut bars in the world that can express my gratitude.