Posted in short stories

Hopelessly Devoted

I’ve only known him for a short period of time but something about him just makes me feel like I’ve known him for ages. Maybe we met in another life or we’re together in a parallel universe. Every time I’m in his presence I just get that strong sense of familiarity. In deep thought I continue to stare out the window with the pen in my hand and the clean white paper in front of me. The sun glares through the thick glass in such a way that only half of my face is illuminated. The other half shaded by the enormous oak tree in front of me. It feels so symbolic. Half of me burst with excitement whenever he’s around and my heart flutters at the chance that I could ever be more than a friend to him. But the other half of me clings weakly to the grim reality that I’ll never be more than just that. I’m not his type. I’m nobody’s type. Still… what have I got to lose. Perhaps I’ll still write the letter. Maybe it’ll still do some justice. I know that there’s a thin line between flattery and eldritchy but I refuse to let myself burst at the seams by holding in such hysteria. The dire need to express myself to him has been too pressing.

I take a sip of my now lukewarm chai tea latte and take a few deep breathes. My feeble attempt to calm my nerves made me even more anxious. I can feel my heart beating through my fingers and I feel my face turn red. What am I really afraid of ? I ask myself this three more times rhetorically then once more as a real question. Rejection ? Embarrassment ? Severing any relationship with him all together ? But if he was never mine, how can I lose him ? I close my eyes for 10 seconds and cease focusing on my breath. No more what if and what nots. I write:

“Dear Mr. Perfect,

I’m not in the business of puffing one’s ego but I hold high the notion of honesty. I’ve experienced the pure joy of true love given but not reciprocated. Before I met you, I felt that the search for such reciprocity could only be found in fairy tales and romance novels. With you, however, I feel there is a chance. I see the passion in your eyes while you hone the skills that will inevitably lead to you fulfilling your dream. I feel the intensity radiate from you when you speak of the things most important to you. Could one of those things ever be me ? Or am I foolish for waiting ? Am I destined to be a forlorned and hopeless romantic ? I hate to be so forward, for I fear it will turn you away. But what is life without chances ? What is love without risks ? I beg of you to read this letter twice and let the words marinate in your heart before you reply.

Con amor,

Conejita.”

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