AMA-Con: The Compilation

Pangram

Written by: @silent_shipper 

Prompt: The quick brown fox jumps over the laxy dog 

Prompt by: @maidensuperfan

***

 The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

Simple, right? But did you know that that simple phrase is what they call a pangram—a phrase that contains all of the letters in the English alphabet? Well, that's exactly what Maine is like. She seems deceptively simple on the outside, but at the same time she's absolutely everything all at once. Everything. All the letters of the alphabet—all the colors of the rainbow—the entire range of human emotions, and then some. Everything...to me.

The frustrating thing is that she has no idea, and I don't know how to let her know. Many, many times I've tried to tell her—felt the words dancing on the very tip of my tongue, threatening to pirouette off the edge, but never actually taking the leap. Am I just a coward? I tell myself it's because I'm trying to be professional.

Never mix business with pleasure, they always say. Don't dip your pen in the company ink. And so on and so forth. The world of showbiz is complex to say the least, and it just complicates things way too much to get involved with someone in the industry. So I bite my tongue and swallow the words before they tumble out of my mouth.

But if I could—if only I could, Maine—this is what I would tell you:

A, you are adorable. It's A—for amazing—how easy it is to love you. You don't even have to try. Yet you're always so astonished to learn that people do. Like at the surprise birthday party your fan clubs threw you, when you said that you thought you only had 25 fans at the most. That's completely ridiculous, Maine. A lot of people adore you, because you are adorable.

B, you are beautiful. Breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful. I've known you for nine months and counting now, but I still haven't gotten used to how gorgeous you are. I know you think it's just the makeup—I've seen how you sometimes admire yourself in the mirror after Sir Juan and Ma'am Celeste have done your hair and makeup, always with this look of pleasant surprise on your face as if you can't believe it's really you you're seeing in the reflection—but I think you're most beautiful first thing in the morning, when you're bare-faced and makeup-free, your hair piled up on your head in a messy bun, wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans. That's what gets me out of bed every day, the thought of seeing you like that.

C is for coffee, which you can't live without. And though it took me several tries to get your coffee order right, I've now memorized it to the point that I can recite it in my sleep. He still doesn't know how you take your coffee. He's had nine months to learn, but he hasn't bothered. I have. If only you would notice.

D is for the long drives we go on, just the two of us in the car, with you behind the wheel even though I always offer to take the keys, but you insist because you enjoy driving. It helps you to relax, you say, to take your mind off things. We've driven everywhere together—to and from the barangay, to Broadway, to various locations for shoots. We never talk much, but just being alone with you is enough for me. Sometimes, though, I catch myself wondering what you might be thinking about, and wishing you would trust me enough to confide in me. But you keep most things to yourself. Which brings me to letter E...

E, you're an enigma. You don't like to talk about yourself much. You say it's because you don't find yourself all that interesting, but I feel like it's because you're afraid of what people will think when they get to know the real you. You're afraid they'll judge you, or think you're weird. Most of all, you're afraid to be a disappointment. Well, you're not. The more I've gotten to know you, the more impressed with you I've been. Don't be so afraid to open up to people, Maine. Give them a chance. Give me a chance.