Vivre

Letter to a guy

Letter to a guy

Do you like me ?

Do you want me ?

Am I enough ?

Am I the problem ?

I am scared. Frightened. Every morning I wake up, and every morning I long to hear your voice. Even to hear you breathe in your sleep. All day long, I wait for nothing but a text from you. And all day long, I text, always first, never answering always asking.

Every night, every call, I am the one creating the conversation, otherwise we just sit in silence.

So here is my question. Do you like me ? Do you think about me, when I'm not there ? Do you miss my presence, my laughter, or even the simple sound of my voice ? Or am I up in my own head, writing my own fantasies and putting you in their place ? Am I crazy ? For I feel everything, except you, wanting me. And maybe you don't. And that's ok. But be sure to let me know. Before I can't breathe an air that isn't the one you breathe. Before I text you random « I miss you s» in the middle of the day. Before I think we could be more. Before I fall in love.

Falling in love huh ? Such an absurd concept. And yet, when I think of you, I catch myself thinking it wouldn't be so bad. Falling for you. Kissing you in the cold of December. Dancing, in the rain of March. Fighting, in the storms of May.

How odd. Here I am, with my insecure self, barely out of an internet crush, and here you are. Here I am, meeting you, in a night of May. « Am I an attention whore ? » is the first question I got asked, that day, not by you, but you were there. A whore for attention ? No. But do I need to know that you want me ? Do I seek your attention specifically? Also Yes.

It scares me. Gets me breaking down in tears, writing in the middle of the night everything I will never tell you. Maybe enhanced for some parts, as it is the magic of writing. It remains though, that overthinking this gets me in tears. Inevitably. Like the rain is meant to pour, unforgivable, my tears run down my face, every night, every time I am left alone, wondering what you truly expect of me.

Writing for a guy. Not something I do. I've done it once. For a summer crush. Just a few lines, saying I should've taken his number. A way of saying goodbye. You ? I am saying hello. Thinking of a way to tell you everything weighting on my heart, without being annoying, without «harassing» you.

And I'm scared. That the very little amount of consideration I have the feeling of receiving from you will vanish into thin air, if I ever as much as whisper again my discomfort regarding the way you treat me. You say you want me and won't text me if I don't text you first. And I know, trust me, that everybody is different, and I can't expect from you something I am not sure to do myself. But dammit. Is it really that hard to let me in on what you want ? Am I allowed to half concealed declarations only under a blanket made out of night ? Do I not deserve to know exactly where you stand ?

Fuck. How can I be in tears over this ? Over a guy that I don't even know if he likes me. Over a guy I met two weeks ago. Over a guy who won't text me. Over a guy with a voice a smooth as the ocean. Over a guy, never afraid to talk without any filter. Over you, who represents everything I am never supposed to Have. Never supposed to Want. The one time I choose, decide to, why not, overcome my fear of what my parents might have to say about a guy from the net, the guy keeps me wondering where he stands. Speak your mind for fuck's sake. Sorry, for the language. But just as your music is varied, so are my feelings, and those can no longer be contained. Well, they will be. Contained. But on my computer, and hopefully in me no more.

You asked, a few days ago, « Have you ever written about me ?». « No, never ». Well, until now apparently. Not only have I written about you now, but this might as well be one the longest texts I ever wrote. One of the most hasty too, reckless. Raw. Because I know, that no matter what, this text will never be read by anyone but me. Or Wattpad. If I am ever brave enough to let this piece of my soul leak into daylight. But not by you. Giving you this to read sounds like « I like you ». Too much. It tastes like all the hugs, and everything we could have. It smells like the South, like those hot summer nights where you can't breathe the second a window is closed. It resembles an I like you. Too much. Too hard. Too quickly. Too. And I know you won't ever read this. Because I won't let you. But, oh how paradoxical is the human soul, I want you to read this. Because writing is just this much easier than talking.

Because writing is just so much easier, here is my letter to a guy. Here is my letter to this guy, who makes me go through all stages of emotions, at an indecent speed.

Here's to you, the man who could convince me the world is mine to conquer. Our ours.

Sincerely yours,

The lost girl who did write about you, in more ways than one.

24/05/2024