Unspoken

letter 19

19 — the person that you want tell everything to but are too afraid too

Hey Finnegan! 

It's funny thinking that if you ever read this letter, you'd probably give me one of your legendary noogies. And then my hair would be a mess and my face would be red and I'd be flustered. So flustered. And you'd probably laugh at me and tell me to fix my hair while smiling at me, looking bemused and somewhat proud of yourself because in that moment, I'd be a mess, a flustered mess, because of you.

That’s why it’s my sole mission in life to never let you read this letter, because you hate being called by your full name, Finnegan. You hate it with every passion of your being. You get this frustrated look on your face like you want to scream and kick the living shit out of anybody who dares call you that. But for some reason, you don't get as mad when I do it, sure I'll probably receive a noogie but then you'll just laugh and smile and tell me not to do it again.

But I like calling you that Finn, I like it a lot. And you hate me for it. But in that moment, you look so devishly cute. Like an angry puppy. And you're feeling something, even if the feeling is being annoyed. You're usually so cool and collected Finn. You're uncaring. You're not an open book. You're closed off, yet nice. Unlike me.

You tell me I'm an open book Finn. That you see right through me. That you can tell when I'm sad or angry. Anytime you see me walking around and it’s a particularly shit day, you grab me and pull me aside, you ask me what’s wrong, and I say "nothing", because how can I possibly place all my sadness on you?

You're Finn. Golden boy Finn. How could I possibly expect you to help me? How could I ever want your pity? I can't do it Finn. I can't tell you everything. I can't tell you anything. And I know it’s unfair because, you do share your problems with me. We've become close Finn. I'd call us 'close friends' by now. I'm so happy for that. Even if you don't see me as anything else than "Dorky Olivia". I'm happy that you genuinely care about me. It makes me feel warm and good. It makes me feel like I’m home. Like you’re home.

And, every time you ask if you can eat lunch with me and you steal half of my sandwich, my whole body feels warm, and the raging storm of horrible dark thoughts ceases. It stops. For just a minute. Because how can I possibly feel horrible when you're sitting in front of me with your hair in front of your warm brown eyes and you have a bit of peanut butter or mayo (depends on the sandwich) next to your lip, and you're smiling at me. How can I feel like my world is crashing down when you do those type of things Finn? You make everything feel..better.

But you also confuse the living hell out of me Finn. I'm used to feeling sad and shitty, and you make me not want to feel like that anymore. You make me want to come to you for help, you make me want to tell you everything. And it’s bittersweet. Why? Because I can't tell you anything Finn. I can't bear dragging someone else into my messed up life. I need to keep you at a distance. I can't expect you to fix me. I can't expect you to want to be there for me after you hear every one of my thoughts. So there. That's my excuse. I may be an open book to you Finn. You may know that I'm sad or angry or not feeling well. But I can't ever let you know why. It would be the scariest thing in the world for me to let you in like that, because I'm giving you the power to tear me apart by running or leaving me because it’s not easy to be there for someone as royally fucked up as I am. And I'll never expect you to stay.

I'm glad you share stuff with me though Finn. I'm glad you tell me about your family. I'm glad you shared with me how hard it was moving from Ireland to America and how you kind of had an accent and you still do but it's not as strong anymore. But it still rolls of your tongue slightly when you say certain words and I find it adorable but it embarrasses you and your cheeks get warm and red. Those moments are my favorite. When you're not cool and collected. 

When you're a bit of a mess and a bit more open. When I can see that you're not perfect and you've got your flaws and things you hate about life and about yourself. And for a second, I think that you might understand the things I can't bring myself to tell you. That you might stick around. But those thoughts that you could understand are fleeting and they don't stay for long. 

I'm sorry. I'll try to be better Finn. So you don't have to worry anymore. I promise. 

Love, Olivia

xoxo

(only one more letter guys. vote and comment and share your thoughts. love you guys so very much)