Dear December,
Listen to that song when you read this. It'll make your heart dip so you realize what exactly it feels like to write this. Maybe not exactly, but close enough.
It's Christmas! I'm not sad. I got socks with little saws on them and we went to go see The Hobbit and I surprised my sister with the new Antlers album. I listened to the sappy playlist my friend made me and melted inside with a dumb grin on my face. But I also texted with the guy who I used to like, 'used to' in the 'getting over it' phase. He said: Merry Christmas! I said: Merry Christmas! We chatted, but I realized that it really, really was done with and nothing to begin with when he didn't find my sock pun that funny. He's flirty, I'm funny, but it's not enough. Reciprocation makes a relationship. A girl needs someone to laugh at her dumb jokes, dang it. That joke was pretty terrible, and by terrible I mean fantastic. Right up there with cannibalistic college students and Ramen.
We weren't something to begin with. Friends are friends. I don't need to like someone romantically all the time. I want to believe that it was nothing, that I am over it, but I keep holding on to the possibility of him liking me. I fear that if he ever does, it'll be too late and I'll be gone by then.
December, oh dearest December, I love you, but these letters were never to you in the first place. I've been writing to myself, for myself for two months. Call it selfish, narcissistic, overcompensating. Self-reflection is self-reflection and the truth is that I just like writing.
Merry Christmas, December.
YOU ARE READING
dear december
Non-FictionContinued from last month's Dear November letters. A little less angsty, a little more poetic. Originally done on Polyvore, by @writingtips' and @smileylina 's suggestion, who got the idea from Youtuber Carrie Fletcher's series 'Letters to Autumn'.
