Love Letters to the Possibly Broken and the Strangely Unforgotten

November 28, 2015

#11 November 28, 2015

Dear Beautiful Disaster,

I am actually in pain today. Looking at your eyes I can feel my lungs filling up with water and my vision going blurry. In AP Lit, there is a girl who likes to play with your hair. Normally, I am okay, but today, it stung. It stung in the crevice between overwhelming denial and a puncture wound. The denial allowed me to clot it quick, though.My god, I'm so dramatic. After school we worked on our project at the library. We took your car over there and it smelled like you: citrus and cologne. Today I have learned that you like the smell of citrus, which is why your car has a citrus air freshener. I suppose that something has to overpower the smell of a week old, away game soccer uniform. Thank the stars that no one else was in the library because we were loud. I'm pretty sure that the librarian, a grumpy looking old lady who walks halfway bent over, was ready to kick us out. We worked for hours. We talked for hours. We're both good at multitasking, apparently. You told me about the project you did about penguins in sixth grade where you lost your voice and had to do the entire project like charades. You asked me if I like charades. It didn't seem to matter whether I liked it or not because we played. Two words. First word. Three letters. You hunched over and made an angry looking face. Old. You nodded. You pointed at me. Girl? No? Woman? Yes. You pointed at the old librarian and she saw you. I threw a book at you for that. It was a book about the mitochondria, if I do remember correctly. And when you smiled at me, even after I threw a book at you, my heart broke. This doesn't happen to normal people, right? No one feels this accute amount of pain at the sight of someone who wouldn't even spare a second thought on you. It is the second thought that matters. The first date doesn't matter as much as the second. Love at first sight is not as important as love at second. After the library, we parted ways, but when you left the way you blinked was like the street lights flickering, and it was unforgettable. You're unforgotten. I wish I didn't know how I felt for you because then I wouldn't have to lie when people ask me about you. Some just shake their heads and laugh. Others call me out. But in my heart, I have learned to accept the inevitable.

I am a cliched excuse for someone who has never loved as much as I do right now. But eventually, in all that love, you learn that we must let you go.

Love,

The Girl who was a Cliche