Observing

dear r

dear r,

This is the letter I've been putting off for ages, because the truth is that I don't want to let go. I don't want to say goodbye. I say I do to my friends, but what I actually want is to lose the pain, the ache of not having you. If I'm being honest, I want the opposite of the end. I don't want to say goodbye; I want you here. I want you beside me in bed, laughing about the time you snuck Oreos out of a package that was offered to me. Discussing all the cringey bands that the boys opened for, and how Jesse McCartney was actually a pretty dope guy. I want to go on day dates with you where we get good coffee and enjoy laying on the grass in the park. I want to show you my city like you showed me yours.

I miss your city. I've always loved Cincinnati (minus the roads; because there's just too many tricky one-ways), and I wonder if you have a tie to that as well. I tell myself no, that it's because so many bands I love are from Ohio, but there was something fresh and addicting about seeing the art on the side of buildings in the city and discussing it with you.

It's classic, that I would only remember the good parts. We always do, right? We want to stray towards the happiness. I think that the good times with you are unmatched. I was so happy that I couldn't contain it. I would sway to the music with you and think about how easy it would be to slip my hand into yours. I would obsess over the text where you called me beautiful, when you were so close to crashing in my hotel room. I'd call off work and spend all my money driving to see you, and I was giddy for every second of it.

I love to think of your big ocean eyes, and your innocent smile. You always seem so serious, but when you smile I see the real you. The person I fell for.

I don't like to think of that time you thought I'd bailed, and I waited in the bar for you for over an hour, hoping you'd come hang out with me. Little did I know you were right outside on the deck. I don't like to dwell on how I'd wished you'd ask me to stay with you longer.

I always stray from thinking about that infamous time when you invited me to another 1975 concert, and after I drove the six hours to get to you, you brought a date. And ditched me for the whole show. My gut twists at the memory of you finding me crying on the sidewalk after the show because I was angry and scared to walk the thirty minutes back to my car in the dark. How the girl you brought was so concerned that it forced me to like her. How strange it was when I crashed at her place with you.

If I do think about that time, I think about when you bragged about parallel parking, how you had me switch spots and you drove around for endless minutes trying to find a space. How we laughed when you were unsuccessful time and time again, and how you opened up to me about her. It hurt with every word, but I also felt like I'd gotten to hear something no one else did. That maybe, in some place in your heart, you still thought I was special.

Nobody ever said it, but even you felt a shift after that day. I have this feeling that you knew what you'd done. How you'd hurt me. We never talk anymore, except for the occasional exchange on social media that I can't resist. You have my new phone number, too, but you never use it. You follow me on Instagram, but you don't like my pictures anymore. You don't message me when the 1975 releases a new song. I miss my friend, even if I never wanted to be yours.

Do you remember when you finally started talking to me as more than a random fan of your friends? The few days before my birthday show. I wore a 1975 shirt for you, and you loved it. You wouldn't stop hugging me. And then, a few days later, when I met you in nashville and you asked me to go to a 1975 show with you in June. I got the tickets that night... and then found you flirting with another girl you'd brought.

I should've known then. But I held onto hope. I knew nothing was usually serious for you. Maybe I'd be different.

That show in June was one of the best days of my life. When we met up during fallingforyou, and you hugged me while I cried to Robbers. You just kept hugging me after every song, and later on offered to buy me another drink.

I thought. For just one moment, I thought.

I don't have hard feelings towards you. I still mean what I said to you that night: "I hope it works out for you. You deserve to be so happy."

You do, r. You do.

I wouldn't trade any of it, or take it back. Those moments are still magical and romantic to me, even if they weren't the same level for you. I like holding them in my hands and watching them like fireflies. Even if it's still painful, I'm so grateful I met you. You are one person out of everyone I've loved that liked me for me, not a facade I played. You saw my pentatonix-crazed, depressing twitter and you still followed me. That still makes me smile, and maybe that means I have low standards.

I would've driven those twelve hours over and over again for you.

I've never said it aloud, or to you in any way, so here it is now, never to be seen by your eyes: I've been in love with you for years. Even when there was someone else, you were always hiding in my heart. Part of me wonders if you always will be.

You've had my heart since the beginning.

I wish you'd taken better care of it.

Until the next adventure.

love always,
c

p.s: I still remember the happy box