your song ➳ one shots

o n e ✿ remembering sunday - all time low

[February 2, 1999]

Dear Mr. Lanky Guy,

I clearly have no idea why I am doing this knowing that (a) you can never actually read them since I couldn't have the courage to send them all to you, (b) it's actually a one in a million chance that we'll have our paths cross again, and (c) I am not even aware of the existence of your name. But anyways, I feel relieved out of every burden I have on my shoulder, so just let me please?

I really am thanking you for getting lost in our area, right in front of the place called my home. I really had a quite scornful day in school, plus my parents broke their promise yet again for another business transaction. And all these happened on my birthday. They told me we'd have dinner together, but nothing happened as they had to attend a couple of business meetings, like their usual busy ass schedules do.

I'm not really demanding them for a big party. I just wanted us to be like normal families, those who could do things together, like eat. But it never happens, you know. Being in the elites means forgetting everything that doesn't give you money, money, money. Everything just turns out to be about money. It seems like everyone's being controlled to fake their asses up and letting themselves be robbed of the character they want for themselves for the sake of hearing the kaching-kaching of gold coins.

I wasn't asking for much. Just them spending time with me was enough. A couple of minutes was enough. But, when your one of the Trevegnes, I highly doubt that it exists in their dictionaries. Sigh.

I apologize for sounding like a child whining when in reality I am a sixteen year old and should be acting all classy and prepped to be graceful and with poise. I really had no outlet for all the things I keep bottled up. And I thought I'd have to end my birthday on a real sad note.

But you came out of nowhere, stumbling outside the steel gates of the mansion, eyeing a tree, perhaps. I was taken aback, to be honest. I did not find your face familiar. You could have been new. Nouveau. I highly doubted you were from the bourgeoisie, the middle class, although you weren't as dressed as classy as the elites could. I was so lost in those thoughts; I didn't even realize I was already staring at you that time. And, surprisingly, you were staring back, sporting a cute smile. Did I just say cute? Oh my goodness, please excuse that one.

I need to stop rambling now. I just hope we'll see each other again. I hope you bidding me goodbye today wasn't the last.

P.S. I was punished for disobeying their orders on me going beyond the four corners of the mansion, but, funny as it may seem, I'm taking it lightly. I usually hold grudges at my parents for doing this but now I didn't as what I did was worth it. As I met you.

P.P.S Vous avez magnifiques yeux bleus.

[February 3, 1999]

Dear Mr. Lanky Guy,

Today felt like an ordinary day. I woke up, ate by myself, went to school, etc. That was a usual routine of mine, so please excuse if I almost lived a monotonous life.

But I guess I was wrong this time. I was on my way to English class when a familiar body built got caught in the corner of my eye. Tall, white, and blonde. Quite the awkward and lanky built, I thought. Until it hit me. It was you! So you and I study in the same institution and I never even realized?

I have no idea if you noticed me as the only thing I was sure of was you were headed for a class in a room opposite the hallway which I think was history.