To the beautiful blonde boy who sits to my left:
You're driving the company car and not saying a word. You're changing the station on the radio a few times because we don't have an aux cord. I'm sitting there watching the other cars pass by, being silent as you are. It's not like me to be comfortable with silence, it's not like me to be comfortable at all but with you I manage to be comfortable with it all and yet I barely even know you. I will barely ever know you.
To the beautiful blonde boy who's driving:
You really only speak when you're spoken to, and I wonder why that is. What's keeping you so quiet? Do you not want to talk to me? I know it's not about me, but that'll always bee the first thing that comes to my head. I'm sorry if I talk too much, I'm sorry if I ramble or say stupid things, I'm sorry if I try to act older than I am so you don't see the few years between us. I don't want to look like an idiot to you, but I'm sorry if I do. The houses we keep passing were so nice, and I know I must have sounded like a child for gawking at them, but thanks for just laughing lightly. Thank you for acknowledging when I speak even if you don't want to. I'm sorry if I pressure you to talk a lot, I just want to know what you have to say.
To the beautiful blonde boy who's walking:
I try my best to keep up, but you're always so fast. We don't talk much when we walk, but that's how it really always was. That's how it's always going to be I guess, we won't really talk much. As we walk across the sand I try my best to not lose my balance, like I do during all of our walks throughout the parks. I'll follow in your foot steps through the soft terrain, in order to properly walk my way through it. I'll watch as you take photos of our surroundings, only giving in my few snide comments here or there. They're not always something sarcastic or bitchy, some times I get really happy about the things I see. Like the second we saw that water, I wanted to stay there forever.
To the beautiful blonde boy who's taking pictures:
I wish I could see what you see through those lenses. I wish I could understand how easy it is for you to take the perfect shot. I wish I could understand what it's like to have good eyes, regardless of the fact that my sight is awful. Good eyes in the sense of knowing you're surroundings, what's important enough to take a picture of. But instead of saying any of this, I'll follow you as we walk along the jetty, thinking about all of the things I could say. All of the things I want to do. All of the things I could write about you.
To the beautiful blonde boy who's sitting on the jetty with me:
Getting to know inside of your mind a little more excites me a lot more than it should. I like asking you questions, because you answer them completely honestly. I want you to ask me some, I want you to have some interest in me, and you do for a short while. But only a short while. So we sit there on that jetty, soaking in the South Hampton sun, feeling the breeze of the wind, and the smell of the salty water beneath us. We're quiet, and I don't mind at all, because I tell you I could sit there all day, and I don't think you understand how literally I mean it.
To the beautiful blonde boy who sits to my right:
You're in the passenger seat not saying a word while I drive the company car. I'm constantly checking the gps even though I know we still have 35 miles until home. We'll chat a little in the car, more when you drive than when I. I ask you more things and just speak to you more when I'm not so nervous about being behind the wheel. I'm always curious to ask you what you're thinking, however, I never will, especially when I'm so scared of you thinking I'm a bad driver. Why do I care if you think I'm a bad driver?
To the beautiful blonde boy who I spent several days of my summer with, walking for countless of hours with, I have some things to say to you here, and I hope I'll have the courage to say them to you before you leave.
Thank you for making me feel comfortable.
Thank you for some how getting me to try new food when no one on this earth has managed to do that.
Thank you for talking to me if you didn't want to.
Thank you for listening to me speak, and not treating me like a child, even if you may think I am one.
Thank you for getting gradually more comfortable with me as time went on, or at least acting like you were.
Thank you for dealing with me, gross, sweaty, tick ridden, and all.
Thank you for listening to me complain about stupid shit you don't care about but we're only acknowledging it because you had to.
To the beautiful blonde boy of this summer,
I hope I'll see you again.
