10 April 2007

I’m stuck in that weird place between wanting to be mature and knowing you can’t. Hoping you can keep it together but knowing something will tear you apart. Wanting nothing more than to be a good friend but knowing you’re just going to have to fake it for awhile.

I’m stuck in that weird place where I can’t stand this whole situation, but knowing that I owe it to you [both of you] to just mind my own business and stay out of the whole thing.

I’m stuck in that weird place where I’m not sure if I will cause more damage by speaking up or by keeping my mouth shut.

So I’m just going to make this short and sweet.

To you: You’ve made me cry more times than I ever want to remember. You’re made my more miserable and happier than anyone ever has. You’ve made me feel jealousy and pride, anger and delight, irritation and compassion, sorrow and joy. I have hated you, I have loved you, and I have felt everything in between. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to let go.

And to you: You are the most dynamic person I have ever met, and the only thing that could possibly make me like you more would be if I weren’t so jealous of you. But I guess that’s to be expected—who wouldn’t want to be funnier, prettier, more talented, more like you? I have never hoped so hard to be someone’s friend, and now that I am, I couldn’t be more delighted. I’m hoping I don’t have to distance myself from you, but then again, I want nothing more than for you to be happy, and I guess we all have to make sacrifices sometimes.

Oh, and one for you: The last two months have been horrible, and I blame it almost entirely on you. The last week, however, has been fabulous; I’ve only thought about you twice. Once was on Sunday, when I got that horrible text. The other time was last night, when I thought I smelled you on that ugly old hoodie I haven’t worn since the night it happened. You still smell delicious, even if you are an asshole. But that’s the thing: you are and asshole. You are pathetic, you are a follower, you are thoughtless and cruel and uncompassionate and self-centered and arrogant and incapable of love. You used to be my hero; now I couldn’t admire you less. The last eight weeks are finally coming to a close. It’s not over, and I know it’s going to take me longer than I want it to. But I am finally falling out of love with you.

Here’s to you: You have terrible timing. I know why you’re doing this; I know I’m just another conquest for you. But he’s your friend. Do you really want to screw that up even more than you already have? Would a few weeks with me really be worth it? No, I don’t think so. You know what you want, you know what I want, you know what he wants. I want him, not you. I’m sorry for the other night, I’m sorry for encouraging it, I’m sorry for screwing things up. [I have a tendency to do that.] You don’t deserve the terrible week you’re having, yet I can’t help but remind you that karma moves in mysterious ways.

I guess you probably deserve one, too: You’re aloof, and I like it. You’re standoffish, and it drives me crazy in the best sense of the expression. You’re adorable, and I’m ecstatic. I had almost forgotten how it felt in the beginning, and now I’m remembering again. You’ve made me look forward to the two things I was dreading most in the world: prom and summer. I’m thinking that you’re different than them. I’m thinking that you’re going to be really, really good for me, whatever the outcome. I’m thinking that maybe not everyone is out to break my heart, after all.

As me [kind of], I suppose you deserve some recognition: I’m glad to have you back. I missed you for that week or two, and I hope we never do it again, even though I know we always do this time of year. Maybe it’s those pesky springtime allergies, eh? Anyway, I love you more than life itself and I can’t wait for all those plans we’ve made. I can’t wait for summer. I can’t wait for Europe. I can’t wait to be tan and basically gorgeous. I can’t wait to spend days on end with you, engaging in our usual mischief / questionably legal activities. Pretty much, I’m finally excited to be alive again.

And you.. I’ve finally come around on you: I know we’ve gotten along on and off this whole time, but you know something? I think I kinda like you. You know how I feel about public smooching, but I actually think the two of you are quite tolerable. I know I yelled at you yesterday, I know I can be a bitch sometimes, I know I scare the hell out of you, but you don’t need to worry: I approve. P.S. I love the CD you gave me today, so much in fact that I can’t guarantee you’ll ever see it again.

That said, I guess all I can do now is let things work themselves out. I finally know what I want [for the most part], but I’m learning to deal with it even when that’s not the way things work out. Whatever happens, happens, and I’m going to be strong enough to deal with it. After all, in the scheme of things, it doesn’t really change a thing. I just need to keep reminding myself to be all the things I want to be. Because for the first time in a long time, I am finally happy to be alive.

I want to be the kind of person people look up to.
I want to be beautiful again.
I want to be a brilliant writer.
I want to be trusted.
I want to be a good friend, the kind you deserve.