Late Night Letters

1

Hi,

I still remember how excited I'd be to go over to your house. We were kids, the purest definition of the word, and I loved you. You meant more to me than I think I'll ever be able to explain.

You gave me the feeling of being wanted and being the first pick. Obviously that lasted less than your attention span at the time, it's okay. I'd thrive in the ability to say that I forgive you. Unfortunately, that'd be lying, because I'm particularly good at holding onto grudges. I know, I'm working on it. Actually, I'm working on myself. Which is why I'm writing you this letter.

I see you way too often for me to ever send you a physical copy, and I'm a coward, that's not news to you though. I'm the best at chicken-ing out of things. But you know what's curious? That there's one thing that I will always be better at. One thing I can always rub in your face (not that I ever do. We don't talk.) and that is that my lame ass goes to the parties on Friday nights. I sit on the couches I've sat on for years, and listen to the adults talk about politics, work, families, memories, I listen to everything. And you're never there.

You have good excuses, I'm sure you feel bad about not going. Too bad I'm too lame to have Friday night plans. Guess it's a coincidence? I won't dig too deep into it. But I always find it funny, how much I care and how little you do. I've been told I over think things. It's true I do, I over think things, I over feel things, I'm a lot to handle. But I think I'm pretty fun when I'm relaxed and I think that I can be annoying when I want to and funny when I don't. I think you have trouble with adults. No, I think you have trouble pleasing other people for their own benifit. I don't know why, and I never will. But it's something you should work on. Just a tip.

Hope you're having a nice life. I sure am.

Sincerely,

L.