Dear You

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by rixter

by rixter

Works| Four entries from the short story, Dear You. Written| September 2012

D E S C R I P T I O N : It's a fall evening and you're walking through your neighborhood park, staring at the ground, stomping on leaves, listening for the crackle sound beneath your shoes. You look up and your gaze stumbles upon a little black journal, peacefully laying on the corner of the bench, untouched. Your eyes search for a nearby stranger, waiting for them toclaim the book before making your way over. Curiosity takes over your mind and you casually sit down, placing the raggity journal on your lap, opening it to see what you'll find.

E N T R Y O N E

Dear You,

I’m writing to you because maybe, just maybe without knowing who I am you can understand what goes on in my mind without judging me based off of my physical appearance. You and I are quite alike in some ways we have a face, hands, legs, lungs, a heart, we share variety of emotions and fight a battle with insecurities inside ourselves. Though, we share the feelings of happiness, love, pain, sadness, and loneliness our stories differ. I’d care to hear your tale of what struggles and triumphs you’ve faced in life leading to the creation of who you are but unfortunately you reader picked up this journal; therefore you’ll be reading my story. And maybe, just maybe you’ll understand why I am the way I am.

XO me

E N T R Y T W O

Dear You,

If curiosity got the best of you and you are continuing to read my entries to learn who about myself then thank you. Hopefully my life story will be intriguing and entertaining rather than dull and boring. I often become bored of myself at times so I don’t blame you if you find yourself feeling the same thing. Although, if you do come to the conclusion that you are indeed uninterested in this journal and are completely bored out of your witts, then please return this to the sport where you have found this, and enjoy the rest of your life, I wish you the best.

XO, me.

E N T R Y T H R E E

Dear You,

In case you were wondering, I am not a 69 year old grandfather who lives a double life spending his time lounging with a six pack in front of the television watching Nascar race reruns during the day, and surfing MySpace and Facebook posing as a 25 year old man with the body of The Situation at night. No, I’m not a Catfish. I’m just a young adult who spends her time creating imaginary characters in her head creating stories that will never be seen. Unfortunately for you my name is classified information and unidentified to your knowledge. Though my name is unknown, I will be more than delighted to share other qualities in myself. I am a girl, female, women, species, whatever it is you want to specify my gender as. I’m a Thanksgiving baby, meaning I was born in the month of November in the year 1994. If you decided to use your brain and do the math you would come to the solution that I am eighteen years old. I’m currently enrolled in community college due to the fact I could not apply to a Uni due to there being a prerequisite of 2 years of a foreign langue, which I barley completed 1 year. Who knew the words burrito and taco would not help me pass Spanish 1 in high school. Meh, college is college right? Doesn’t matter where I’m going as long as I am getting an education. I mean I could be one of those girls who do not attend college and waste their life chasing boy bands and actors who will never in a million decades think twice about dating them. Ok, ok, I’ve had my share of fantasies that involve me dating Taylor Lautner but really can you blame me? You can’t look at a photo of that man shirtless without thinking about running your tongue along his abs and baking cookies on his stomach. Or Dave Franco. Hello, have you not seen Nicholas Hoult ? Okay, maybe that is just me but you get the idea, I may have fantasized about dating a celebrity but I don’t actually chase them. It’s like girls can’t get enough of seeing their celebrity crush on posters in their room so they take it up a notch by stalking them and waiting outside of restaurants and their hotels. Fangirls should just start working for TMZ that way they can be stalkerish for a living. There’s this girl I used to know and all she does is chase boy bands around all day. She doesn’t even going to school or have a job so I have no clue how she gets money to follow them around. Hm, maybe she’s a prostitute? Who knows. Anyways, I tend to get distracted and ramble on and on about different things so if I happen to be talking about my own personal feelings to what Kardashian scandal is on Twitter then I apologize. It’s not my fault really, ok ? Just cope with me.

XO me

E N T R Y F O U R

Dear You,

I tried so hard not to cry in front of all those people. I honestly did. I literally screamed at the top of my lungs in their house because I got so freaked. They don’t know any better so it’s not like they did that on purpose to trigger me. They kept fingering the hole on my tights, on the knee, like just poking it and rubbing it because they knew I was tripping. So many memories, flashbacks, rushed through my mind, of that night. It was like it was his hands all over again, rubbing my leg, tugging at my tights. Pulling them down. I wish it never happened because then I wouldn’t freak over every little thing… I like being numb to get over meaningless things, but I don’t like not being in control. I wasn’t in control that night, I had no fucking idea what was going on around me. That’s how I was today. I fucking scared myself.

Sincerely,