Bitter Sweet

Letter to Grayson - Afraid

Note: This story is a work of fiction. Though the character Grayson does exist in real life (he's a friend who enjoys scaring the crap out of me), associating the reality Grayson and book Grayson is a huge sin which will cause you troubles throughout the story. Sarah and practically everyone else is fictional, though.

Dedicated to Alyssa because of her continuous support. Thank you so much for being such a wonderful friend and lab partner. One day, TGWB will be at our feet.

~

Hey Grayson,

It's Sarah. Not Sarah Addison, but Sarah Evans. I know, there's a big difference (no sarcasm intended).

Sometimes I feel like - I feel like if I just disappeared on the spot, no one would notice. And if they do, they wouldn't care. But then again, I have already disappeared, haven't I?

It's not like I want to feel this way or anything; it just happens. Like how it just happens so that I'm sad - not tragic enough to be of any importance, but not mild enough to be ignored. Just like myself, I guess.

It's unlikely if anyone feels the same way as me. After all, they're all so... so free. They voice their opinions with not a care in the world. They protest and question their superiors, blissfully ignorant to the consequences. They're so unlike me.

I mean, I'm the kind of person who's too afraid to go to school wearing the clothes I've always wanted to wear. I'm the kind of person who's too afraid to participate in class even though I know the answers to all the questions. I'm the kind of person who's too afraid to ask people to move when they block my path.

I'm afraid of freedom. Freedom is what I restrain myself from, because what comes with it are consequences too severe to appeal and regrets too deep to endure. The fall from a jump - as I would call it. Sure, it may be exciting, but I'd rather stick with the safe, unnoticed path I've chosen from the very beginning.

Wouldn't it be nicer if I were you? You're funny. You're weird (in a good way). You're athletic. You're popular. Everybody loves you. "Grayson, Grayson, Grayson." They say it like a chant. And I join in with them because I am too afraid to chant for myself.

All that I've said was morally incorrect. I shouldn't wish that I were you. I shouldn't, I shouldn't.

I guess I'm just too afraid. Too afraid to enjoy attention, too afraid to speak up, even too afraid to be you.

I'm not making sense, am I? I should stop writing now.

Lots of love,
Sarah.