losing you; gbd{rewritten & edited}

letter #13 [edited]

June 27th, 2017
7:37 pm
letter #13

Our first date was a disaster.

I don't know about you, but I sat in my closet for hours that day, trying to pick something that didn't make me look like a douche. I wanted it to be perfect; and despite how dramatic it sounds, I was serious about it.

Ever since the moment we had met, I knew there was something about you. I wanted to know you. All your hobbies, your favorite things, things you hated; just you.

I had on a black button up with dark blue ripped jeans, boots at my feet. I looked in the mirror right before I left and fixed my hair for the millionth time before grabbing my keys and leaving the house.

I was fidgeting in anticipation, wondering how it would go. Honestly, I was terrified I'd fuck this up somehow. I didn't want to lose you before I even truly had you.

I rounded the familiar street, smiling rising as I had played back the moment we first met. We had decided that it would be good to go to the pizza place that I was at when we first crossed paths.

I was nervous as hell, and as I walked into the pizza place and saw you, I don't think I had ever had more anxiety than in that moment. You looked beautiful. In your messy but cute ponytail and leather jacket, playing with your straw and moving your head to the song that played over the speakers.

I made my way over to and you smirked at me as if you could sense the nervousness wafting off me. I tried my best not to trip on my way over, and when I made it, I sat across from you at a table by the window. Our table by the window.

"Grayson," you said in greeting, watching me as I ran my hand through my hair. I didn't know how to act around you and it frightened me. I was never nervous around girls. Why now?

"Uh, h-hey, Rena."

You smiled then, the sparkle that seemed to be reserved strictly to you reappeared. You laughed, a little loud and little boisterous. "Nervous, are we?"

"Me?" I asked, throwing on my very false bravado. "Never."

You nodded at me, smirk still there. We stared at each other for a moment and I honestly thought I would pass out if you kept looking at me like that.

I hated myself that day, the amount of times I stuttered or tripped over something I wanted to say, or even that one time I got up to get napkins and actually tripped. The conversation seemed rushed, and awkward, and I hated it; all I wanted was to impress you.

After pizza, we went to get frozen yogurt at my favorite place and I swear I never wanted to punch myself in the face more than that day. I kept asking you dumb questions like, "so how's your life at the moment?" and "oh do you have any pets?" and even "oh are you in school?"

Small talk. Stupid conversational pieces that weren't any of the things I really cared about.

And every time I asked you a question, I saw your eyes furrow a little more and the frustration grow on your face.

We didn't sit with our froyo, we walked along back streets and deserted alleyways, staring at tagged buildings and continuing the painfully boring conversation.