01/04/2017
Dear And.,
Do you remember that day? The day we all came together, the whole class, to make our short version of Herodotos' Kandaules and Gyges. It was a hard assignment, because we're only with 8, but we did it anyway.
At noon, when we were all starving, your mother made us pancakes (she's lovely btw) and we were encouraging you to play the piano, since you're just so terribly talented. Your fingers touched the keys and the room was suddenly filled with happiness. Everyone was laughing and complementing you, but I just stayed quiet. I enjoyed the way the La La Land theme song sent shivers down my spine, making my eyes turn to your back. You caught my gaze in the reflection of the piano, as you started another song, and you basically kissed me from across the room.
Afterward, we went back into the house next door to continue filming. I liked that house, it was big enough for me to feel free. You were sitting there, looking like a bad version of a filmstar. But that was okay, because I'm not good-looking either. I walked through the dark hallway to get to the toilet and when I came back, everyone signaled me to be quiet, because you all started filming again. So I just stood in the doorway and looked at your pointy face. You look kind of like a mouse but in a good way and I like your eyes. I can start dreaming again in those. The way the specks of green and yellow just blend together with the cerulean blue, I wish I had painted you.
Your bright eyes shot energy in me, through my garbage coloured ones (I know you don't like it when I call them that). We had to re-take that scene five times and my narcissistic self thought it was because I was distracting you. Maybe I was right in that moment, but both you and I know you could never love me.
I know you have this ginormous crush on a past friend of mine. I surmise you loved that she's extemely social and nothing like me, but she cares too much about being "cool". You don't mind that, because she's pretty and mentally stable, unlike me. She knows a lot, but she's an excellent liar too.
You've been avoiding me for weeks now and it makes me sad, because I miss our random discussions about Trump (you dislike him and I love you for it) and about our galaxy, which gives us both insomnia. I know you've noticed the dark bags under my eyes and the faded smile on my lips, because you asked me if I was fine. But unfortunately, "fine" isn't the answer that takes away the fact that you won't even look me in the eyes.
I liked you a lot, ever since our first year. Guys were saying that I looked like a boy. I didn't really see it as an unsult, but you told them to fuck off and comforted me. You always did and still do. When we had an unexpected literature test, I forgot my book, so you told the teacher that you'd do it without it too, to stop my panick attack.
Know that you've always made a chance, even though you think I hate you. I don't, I never did.
Love,
Your blackbird
