Dear Blair, Love Looms (JENLISA)

Letter 2

Dear Blair,

How could you?

I have never been angry at you in nearly two decades of knowing you because I could never stay mad at you for long but I feel like this would probably be the first time. I don't want to speak to you. I don't even want to see you, hell, I don't even want to see even just a glimpse of your shadow.

I get it. I've been out of character lately. My mood swings have been hard to gauge and most of the time, you would call me out at being a jerk even when all I've ever done was sit in my space in our living room and watch Netflix. But maybe that's because I haven't been engaging lately. You would arrive home from work and tell me about your day and all I would do was nod along and not speak a word.

I think I've barely spoken more than five sentences to you in this week alone. For some reason, I thought that the best thing for the issue that I was currently dealing with was to avoid you and so, I would set my alarm up at five in the morning and run for two hours straight knowing that you would have to get up by seven, get ready for work, and leave. I would make sure that I wouldn't run into you at home and in the instances that I do, I would almost always have my headphones on and busy myself with whatever god forsaken show I could watch on Netflix. I think I've ended up finishing three series since I've started doing this.

It's mean, I know. You've been trying to reach out. It's been two months since I've been out of my head and I feel like the last substantial conversation we had was when you told me about your breakup. I didn't even bother comforting you then and let it all slide when you told me that you were fine even when I could see that you weren't because I badly wanted to believe that you were so I could quietly nurse my own issue.

But what you've done tonight crossed the line. How could think that the solution to my issues was to set me up on a blind date? Granted, the man was a fine catch. Nate was lovely and if I wasn't so angry, maybe the whole date could've been cathartic. But the whole time, I was so fucking scared that you read the first letter, the one where I confessed of my identity crisis, of what I think I was feeling for you.

I'm mad because I'm still trying to grasp everything and you decided to take the wheel and set me up on a date with a guy I don't even know! If you were in my position, you would've been upset too, Blair. You know how much I hate going on a date with a guy I haven't had the chance to talk to with. And do you know what pissed me off the most?

You sent me a text that you were roped into having a dinner with the manager in your team and I was well aware of how that guy crept you out. You told me stories that he would always ask you to go with him for lunch or dinner and he would always stare at you and sometimes even let his hand linger on your arm. He was often hitting on you and I swore to myself that if I saw that guy doing that to you, I would strangle him and you would have to have enough money on you to bail me out. I won't do too much damage that would make it hard for you to bail me.

You knew I would come running no matter what kind of funk I was in. You knew that I would always be there for you and play hero, even if I'm far from being prince charming and your knight in shining armor. I may have been a woman but I would wield a sword for you if you needed me to. You knew that much, Blair. You were certain of it. That's why you sent me that text; such a simple message that you knew would make me come to you wherever you were, no matter what.

But do you know what I find? I find a man in black trousers and a simple plain white shirt and a suit jacket on, waiting for me. His hair was chestnut brow and his eyes were a lovely shade of blue that reminded me of the ocean. He was polite and respectful and even asked me if I just wanted to go home if I was really upset with the whole blind date thing that I confessed I never agreed to go to.

"You can go, you know," He told me, the Australian accent thick.

I felt bad and I think you knew that I would feel bad. "It's fine. It's rude for me to leave."

I think your plan was that I'd stay and enjoy the night, that I'd end up finding a lot of common ground with Nate and maybe eventually fall in love with him. I think you made sure that he checked every box on my list, and you were well aware of the kind of guy I wanted to date. I think I've ranted to you about it so many times so you had it in the bag.

But that wasn't the issue. Nate may have been the guy I have been looking for but that would only count if I was actually looking for a guy. See, the problem was that I'm not sure anymore, B. I'm not sure if the person I want to date goes with the pronoun he. So yes, Nate was perfect. In another life, if I was certain of who I wanted, I would've gone home and told you all about him and told you that I found the person I wanted to marry.

That wasn't the case in this one.

In this, I came home and I saw the excitement in your eyes. You had no plans on apologizing for what you've done. I think you didn't even expect that I would be mad. "Soooo...tell me all about him. Oh wait, wait, wait! Hold that thought, Looms. I told you so, didn't I?"

You've always wanted to set me up with someone. You always told me that you would find me the most suitable match that could go beyond my own expectations. If there was anyone in the world that knew who I wanted, it would be you.

That's where you're wrong, B.

You had no idea who I wanted. I'm not even sure who I want anymore, B. My head's all messed up and I think you messed it up even more by doing this.

"Screw you, Blair," I had said then, my voice so quiet and angry and the smile on your face disappeared right away. "You know nothing."

You matched my anger, escalating everything. "What do you mean I know nothing, Looms? I've been your best friend for two decades and you tell me I know nothing? Nate's a good guy. No, hell, Nate's fucking perfect! And isn't that the kind of guy that you want? So why are you so angry that I set you up with a guy that's perfect for you?"

It was a petty argument and I know that I should've slammed the door on your face and retreated in my bedroom and let the whole thing blow over. But I didn't. "I don't want perfect, Blair!" I want you.

"Then what do you want, Luma? Because you know what? I've known you for so long and then suddenly, I come home to a stranger. That's how you've been acting in the last weeks, Luma. It's like I don't know who you are anymore."

I could hear the pain in your voice, so palpable, absolutely heartbreaking. What I was about to say next, I knew that it would break you even more. "I don't want you meddling in my life anymore the way you did earlier, Blair. I'm old enough to find someone to date. Stop barging in my life thinking you have me all figured out because you don't, Blair, you fucking don't!"

Words hurt and I knew that I hurt you in the same way that your actions had hurt me. But I think the implication of mine cut deeper. I was angry and said things in the heat of the moment, Blair. It's an excuse and it's a petty one at that and the kind that we hear a thousand times from someone dear to us.

I'm sorry.

And I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it. I want you to meddle in my life for as long as you want, in any way and form, as long as it's not you trying to match me with someone, it's fine. No matter how old I get, even if I'm graying and with a cane, I don't care if you want to do an intervention with me if you think my life needs an upgrade, I'll let you. And when you tell me that you have me all figured out, I'll believe you.

I'll lay myself bare and open for you to discover and rediscover if you have to. As long as it's you. Only with you. That's the thing that you don't understand and the thing that I cannot fully grasp.

It's you. Only you.

Maybe it's always been you.

Love,

Luma