GirlxGirl Short Stories

Letter to You (but mostly myself)

Dear Beth:

I would like to start this with a disclaimer: this is NOT, by any means, meant to guilt you into anything or make you feel bad. It's to get this stuff off of my chest. I respect the crap out of your feelings and opinions and by god if I make you upset when you read this, TELL ME and PLEASE let me make amends. Anyways, time for the juicy part.

I think you're pretty cool. You are nice, sweet, pretty, and overall a lovely being that I cherish very much. I think that your hair is perfect, and I love your sense of style. I like the face you make when you smile and the way your eyes twinkle when you think something's funny. You never fail to brighten my day — you're like a little walking ball of sunshine, and i guess that makes me a smitten little planet, stuck forever in orbit, but never getting too close. That's okay though, as long as you are happy. I'm fine being the Mercury to your Sun as long as it's what you want and what makes you happy.

I know i can be a little overbearing sometimes. I can talk too much, or over share stuff that's not your job to worry about, or do that annoying thing where I put myself down and you feel like you have to reassure me that no, I'm not an awful person (which is not your responsibility and I NEVER want you to feel like you are responsible for my well being because that's my job). I am certainly not perfect, and I know I act like a silly dork. I probably make goo-goo eyes when I look at you or something stupid like that. It wouldn't surprise me.

Anyways, the point I'm trying to get to is this: I like you. You know, romantically. It was like a little whisper when I first met you. Super easy to brush away and write off. Isn't she pretty? I bet she's super cool, it said. Then I got to know you better, and that whisper turned into a quiet murmur which turned into an assertive push which promptly turned into insufferable shouting, which was a little more difficult to ignore. It got to the point that every time I saw you, that rotten voice would chime in: ISN'T SHE GORGEOUS TODAY? I WOULD LITERALLY KILL SOMEONE FOR HER. I LIKE HER LAUGH. YOU SHOULD KISS HER.

This made me uncomfortable. I don't like liking people because it never turns out good. The last real relationship I had was in 7th grade and it ended with me crying to Hayley Kiyoko's Girls Like Girls. I know, it's awful. But above all it made me uncomfortable because I know you don't feel that way, which is totally fine. Life is life, and people will like people that don't like them back. I just wanted it to all go away and we could just be BFFs, you know?

Anyways, that voice got louder and louder and more and more persuasive as time went on. I would rant to my friends about you — why do I like her so much??? Why is she so pretty??? Is there something wrong with me??? The voice would always say something to the tune of "Because she fuckin' rocks, bro. What's not to like?" I would (and still do) agree with that voice. But around January, that voice started suggesting something else.

"You know what would be a great idea with absolutely no repercussions?"

"What?"

"Asking Beth to the dance. As a date. Romantically. Like, the gay way. You know, full homo."

As we both know, that went a little differently, WHICH IS TOTALLY FINE. I went into the situation knowing that you have opinions that don't always align with my own. I'm a big girl, I promise. I asked — and by asked I mean I stumbled over my words and made a fool of myself — you to the dance and you said yes. I nearly cried. I was on a euphoric high all day and ready to scream and shout and punch God in the face or something stupid like that. That afternoon I decided to shoot you a text and make small talk, even though I hate small talk. (I make exceptions for the people I care about.)

Then I asked for your reaction when I asked you. I had a big ol' stupid shit-eating grin on my face and my heart was banging around in my chest like a bunch of pots during an earthquake. Aaaaaaaaaand I read that you meant as friends. Yee-ouch. It hurt a little. I'm ok though, and I'm fine. I am totally good. Yes.

Ok, moving on from that bit.

Moral of this story is I like you a lot. I might even love you, but I don't want to entertain that thought because it scares the shit out of me. I adore you. Just thinking about you makes my chest light and fuzzy and all that stuff they talk about in movies. Being around you is a drug, and I'm an addict. I could spend all of eternity looking into your eyes and it wouldn't be long enough. And while i would love nothing more for you to call me yours and me to call you mine, that isn't in the cards for me, and that's alright. Time heals all wounds, and especially the pesky infection called Love. So, let's hope that Time gets a move on treating my illness.

With Tons of Platonic Love,

Angie