It's Me, Luke

6

16 January 2012

Saturday

Dear Jane Doe,

I know I wrote to you yesterday, and I don't usually write to you everyday, but this time I'll make an exception.

I can't just fucking believe I saw you for the second time.

And I can't fucking believe I chickened out again.

I missed the damn chance, Jane. I could've went to you and asked for your name, or your email, or your cellphone number, but I didn't.

I don't know what has gotten to me that moment. All I have ever wanted to figure out this week was your identity, and when I got the chance, I bailed! I chickened out!

Maybe because you weren't sitting next to me, but in front of me. Maybe I thought that moment you would freak out if I just talked to you straight away, considering the fact that you probably don't remember I was the guy you sat next to one day when it was raining and you expressed your hate with burning passion.

Maybe because I was afraid you'd brush me off, like everyone else would.

You were sitting there in front of me, your earphones tucked on the either sides of your ears. It seemed like you were listening to some kind of upbeat music, because your head was bopping up and down.

Up, and down. And up, and down.

As freakish as it may sound, but yes, I was looking right at you all along. I don't know if you noticed it, as I was behind your seat, but somehow, even the image of your back had interested me.

I was so close to tapping your shoulder, you know. I was so close to asking if you remembered me, and that little conversation we had...

It was so close.

The problem? I could have done that, but didn't.

I should have had.

I really should have had.

The whole trip was more of like a game of hide and seek. I was hiding, and I was kind of hoping to get seeked.

Only in the game, you do not wish to get me seeked.

So note to self: I suck at metaphors.

You know what, I wished you'd turn around, look at me, and say something along the lines of:

"Hey, I remember you, you were that boy I sat next to the day it was raining. I'm (insert your name), by the way. What's your name?"

But you didn't. How could you do that, anyway? You were soaked in the goodness of loud music.

The problem was me.

Congratu-fucking-lations for figuring it out, Luke!

I feel like I'm not making sense. I don't, do I?

Well meet me, Luke Art Townsend, a genius but a definite moron when it comes to girls.

And jocks like Johnny.

So point of this letter: I'm so happy to be able to see you again, even though I kind of haven't, because I didn't approach you or anything, but still. It kinda gives me hope to see you once again. Like, the odds of seeing you again on the same time and place increased by a hundred percent.

I'm that hopeful.

I might haven't approached you the past times, but the next one, I swear to God, I will.

I will fucking man up.

Like, no shit.

On another note, for a bullied one I kind of curse a lot.

That's if you haven't noticed.

But I'm sure you have, because if you didn't I couldn't believe you.

So yeah...

I'd usually tell you what happened to me this day, but my memories are clouded by the image of you. You and how your curly blonde hair fell perfectly on your shoulders. How your eyes sparkled when you laughed.... all of you. You are so beautiful.

Frankly, I can't think of anything else but you. Which explains the rambling that's happening right now...

I have a question for you, Jane.

Do you know the feeling of being secretly in love?

Like, that person whom you are eagered to know seems so far when in reality he's too close, and you just can't get close to him because you're too afraid of what he'll think of you.

In my case, it's the other way around.

You are too far away from me, Jane. In fact, I don't even know how far you are. You might be living at the farthest side of the state, which explains why you always seem tired and exhausted on the past two times I have seen you in the bus. But to me you seem very close. You see, I write you letters, like I'm sending them to you, when I don't. I tell you what's happening on a day after day basis, like you can read it, but you don't.

In all honesty, I feel like I'm so close to you. I feel like you're right here, listening to what I have to say.

But then again, you're far away.

Funny, life. So fucking funny.

I thought I was the one never falls in love.

But I think I just did.

I know it's stupid when someone falls in love with a person they barely know, and that it doesn't make sense. It's stupid because you don't know a single thing about her let alone her name. It's stupid because it's stupid.

I know, because before, that's what I think.

But not now, because I just did the stupid thing with you.

God, what the fuck I am saying?

Look what you've done to me, Jane.