To you with the blonde hair and green eyes, a crush tangled in the ugly realm of the friend zone. I’m caught in the smoke of your nasty habits, your silent intrigue, ever fascinating. I will never admit to myself that you won’t have me. I will always laugh a little louder; my voice will always go an octave higher when you’re near. One day you’ll realize how perfect we could be. Or maybe you just won’t; that would be ok too.
To you with the headphones, sitting next to me in class. For 6 months I wondered what it was you listened to before class until one day you leaned in an whispered to me that there was no music playing in your ears. You just liked to be left alone while walking through campus but that if I ever needed you, I would know that you could hear me. Thank you for trusting me with your secret, I want to know the insides of your mind even though I barely know your name.
To you with your drunken professions of love, I appreciate the sentiment, I admire the determination, I envy the courage. I apologize that I cannot believe you. I just don’t think that you know my ugly parts well enough to draw that conclusion. Or perhaps I am just opposed to the fact that something like love will ever actually come into my proximity. Or maybe, even more frighteningly I am scared that you “love” me for something other than my mind.
To you who I met online, thank you for reminding me that possibilities are endless. That there are all kinds of people everywhere just waiting to have their stories heard. It’s ok that it’s never worked out; it’s ok that I won’t see you again. It’s ok. It’s ok. Thank you.
To you, the one who woke up in my bed, the phi delt, the sigma chi, the rugby player; the blonde, the brunette, the ginger. I won’t remember your face; you’ll blend with the others and become a blur of bad college decisions. The scent of you on my sheets won’t linger for long. But thank you for the things you have provided me: the confidence, the fleeting affection, the sense control. Mistake you may seem, but regret I refuse to let you be.
To you, with my v-card in your back pocket. It’s funny that I haven’t seen you in years, funny that you didn’t call back, funny that it doesn’t matter. I was only 16 then, just a kid. Everyone thinks it should’ve destroyed me; assume I’m in denial when I say it didn’t. But to be honest I’m glad that you have my virginity, it takes the pressure off of the impossible promise of forever.
To you, the one who isn’t here anymore; know that you still haunt my dreams. Know that my thumb hovers over your name in my phone aching to call, to hear your voice again. I think of you from time to time, or more honestly, all the time. I imagine our reunion every night before I drift to sleep. It would seem the best solution would be to let you go, forget everything that ever mattered between us but I like having you tucked away in my heart.
To all the men who have waltzed so carelessly in and out of my life, you are just fillers, just lessons, just experiences that shape my life. Thank you for being part of my ride.