Reflection Letters

*First Letter*

April 17th

Dear the person who likes me,

When I typed that greeting down, I still have to bring myself to ask why?

Why do you even like me? I'm this imperfect thing, with knotty hair and a blemished face whose glasses seem to look more aesthetically pleasing than herself. Oh, and let's not even forget, my charming personality. Of course my sarcasm has kicked in at that word, charming. My personality has to be the most flawed part of me yet. I am irritable and insensitive yet sensitive and emotional all at once and it really doesn't help me at all.

On some days, when the dark skies conquer and rain onto the atmosphere underneath, I can't even imagine myself as even being human.

Those days now, are the worst.

Those are the days when I lay in bed thinking why does a meaningless thing, yes thing, like myself even exist? What purpose do I have besides being a waste of space to this world? Why am I so selfish when people all around me are going through much more difficult things yet here I am, complaining about my life when I should be grateful to even be on this world at all?

On those days, I'm not grateful to be living in such a world where cruelty overrules and contradicts the overused idea of peace and happiness. Where dreams and hopes are crushed and obliterated each day. Where people like me are pitied and given sad smiles that are like drops of water attempting to put out a wildfire.

There I go again, talking about myself like as if I matter most in this world filled with seven billion people who all probably have more spirit and just more to offer than me.

Then there's you. One of those seven billion who just so happened to cross my way after one summer, last summer, to be precise.

Three weeks in a completely different environment than what I was accustomed to. An environment that filled me with with doubts, insecurities, and lost hopes.

I remembered my birthday taking place in those three weeks. Usually, people would be filled with excitement and jitters the night before their birthdays. I mean, who wouldn't? Childhood birthdays are steps closer to that independence and freedom we all crave at this age. They are steps closer to wisdom and maturity. However, that night, I was unsure why I didn't feel that way and cried instead. Can you believe I cried before my birthday? Luckily, no one had seen me, who knows what judgements they would have made about me, which was something I really could not have dealt with at the time.

I argued for quite some time that that summer was by far the worst time in my thirteen, almost fourteen (which you would know) years of life.

I'm not going to say that you had helped me stop drowning in my pool of self pity and self hatred, because that did not happen.

However, I met you that summer, under the luminous sun that never dared to stop shining, and on top of the trimmed emerald grass, that would constantly be bombarded with firm balls whenever we missed, which was quite often.

I was ecstatic to know that I would be playing volleyball again since the last time I played was far too long ago, since about the beginning of the just ended school year. It was, still is, my favorite sport, partially due to the fact it's the only sport I can actually play.

Nonetheless, I was excited. Our instructor would tell us to practice with a partner, which I did, but again, that wasn't with you.

It was actually with one of the only friends I had made that summer. She would muster out curses, give sassy remarks, you would know who I am talking about. She went to the same school as you, I had learned when she gave you one of her classic remarks, acknowledging you that one day. Wanting to join in and at least attempt to make another friend, I said something somewhat relevant and that was enough to make you look at me.

She eventually introduced you to me and me to you and that was enough for our friendship to blossom.

I remember after that day, you would talk to me whenever chance you could until the end of those three weeks. People began to talk, sharing rumors that you had liked me. I had disregarded them and refused to listen to such bull because I was afraid.

I was indeed afraid.

You hadn't properly told me the exact words that reveal your truest feelings, but I was afraid when you might. I didn't want our friendship to end. Such feelings like the ones you have created for me would ruin our beginning, leading us to our inevitable end, I thought at the time.

However, the rumors had become so powerful that I had started to believe them.

So at the end of the three weeks, I thought that was it. Our friendship would no longer last as I had not contacted you. It was the end of whatever minor, insignificant thing we had.

Yet, we managed to find each other. It's astounding how people could connect other people. Social media groups with people from that summer were made, and we found each other once again. We didn't exactly talk privately right away until the beginning of the next school year, which you had begun. And ever since, we have managed to communicate with one another, and you have managed to continue these emotions of affection towards me, not even having to see me in person ever again.

However, this is all because of you.

If it weren't for you, we would have never spoken again since that summer. In whatever kind of relationship we have, you put in all the work, which I don't understand why you continue to bother.

It's obvious that I am never going to feel the same towards you and for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I see you as almost this sibling, and will never return your feelings. I'm sorry that I can't offer you much, barely even a friendship as all I can do is send text messages that probably mean something special to you than they ever will to me. I'm sorry that you have to keep putting yourself through this aching, painful cycle of rejection, which I know just how damaging it can be because believe me, I have lived it. But most of all, I'm sorry that I'm selfish, because if it wasn't for that, I could easily give up our friendship so that you wouldn't continue hurting yourself, but I refuse to do so.

I don't know what you saw in me that day as I pretended I was a pro in volleyball, and I still don't understand what you see in me now, especially when I'm worse than I ever was now.

But still, thank you for seeing anything in me at all, because you have shown me that maybe, just maybe, there's something in me, something remarkable, and I just have to open my eyes a little to catch glimpses of it more often.

Many would probably think: why would you be my first letter and why not someone more significant like a family member or close friend?

But that's the thing: you are significant. You aren't just some random person I have come across in this point of my life, but you are someone better, the person who has liked me for the longest. And you staying by me this long after every deleterious comment and even bitchy remark, really means a lot, even when I don't show appreciation. However, even after being such a person, I don't trust myself to remember you.

And I think that is the reason I have decided to make you my first letter. My first letter for one who I want to remember always.

I hope that five years from now, even ten or twenty, or as long as infinity, I will remember you as who you are because who you are is important to me and many others. Even with my forgetful self, I wish to remember you when the sun glistens and when it ceases to exist.

Sincerely,
Cyan

P.S.
Today you sent me a picture of some lights that reminded me of a star filled sky, oh so beautiful. And once I sent you that, you typed "You are beautiful." I smiled and typed the dumbest reply I thought of at that moment, saying "Thank you." Words cannot describe just how much you lifted my mood with those three words.