Stargazing

seven letters

November 19, letter one.

Dear Joshua Moore,

I first met you at Northwood High. A few months ago, we entered high school as dumb fourteen-year-olds who supposedly make bad decisions and have a million red spots on our faces. Well, it's all pretty much true, for me anyways. The only good decision I've made since I turned fourteen was you.

I remember my first thoughts about you. You and your cropped, ebony hair, you and your star-filled hazel eyes, you and those flecks of dirt sprinkled across your nose. At first, I had no idea what to think of you. You were merely classmate, a peer, just a guy I had most of my classes with.

That was stupid of me.

When we first became friends, I thought it was impossible to like you. Too awkward to date, too difficult to love. Guess how that went.

Remember that incident when kids saw us working together for that boring math project and they started shipping us because they thought us fooling around looked 'so cute'?

You guessed it, that's where it all started. I reconsidered the thought of maybe, possibly, liking you. But as I gazed into your eyes and watched you laugh to the point where you gasped for air, I fell for it all at once; the otherworldly beauty, the lightheartedness, the pure love radiating from your body.

I hope you know that this is all your fault. As if you're ever going to read this.

xoxo,

Vanessa.

February 14, letter two.

Dear Joshua,

Valentine's Day. The day we slow-danced together to Ed Sheeran's 'Hearts Don't Break Around Here' at the school dance.

We only went to the dance ironically to make fun of the lovey-dovey couples who held hands everywhere they went, even if everyone knew they would break up in around a month. As promised, we boo'd at about 11 couples, made fun of Ashley Samuels and Jaiden Lacroix, who kissed every five seconds, and drank punch while at it. I would have never known about what happened next.

The dance was coming to an end, and the speakers starting blasting Ed Sheeran. The slow dance. We were exhausted, and somehow got drunk on the punch. As I was about to comment something else about some other popular girl's dress, you got up, offering me your hand. Whoa there, Mr. Romantic.

Total euphoria flooded my system while my hands rested on your shoulders, your hands on my hips. We were palm trees in the wind, carefree, without a doubt. I counted the freckles atop your nose, making sure none of them disappeared. I only had one accomplishment at that point; to keep my hands from grasping your cheeks towards me, pulling you into an oh-so-wonderful kiss.

I hate you so damn much.

with great sincerity,

Vanessa.

September 2, letter three.

Dear Josh,

I thought I'd gotten over you, but I guess not.

Summer break had past, a Josh-less summer. After spending three months in France without seeing you, my weirdly close friend, I thought, hm, maybe Josh really isn't that likeable. Spending one day at school with you after so long resurfaced forgotten feelings that came back stronger than ever. Is it really necessary for you to be that adorable when you laugh?