[Warning: This post has been heavily influenced by too many lonely
As Told by Ginger marathons this summer and morning coffee coursing through my
veins. Will be highly cheesy and emotional. You have been warned. Plus, it's
really really, long. And if you feel like this post is about you and feel
freaked out, you don't have to finish reading. If you feel uncomfortable
considering it might be you I'm talking about, for the cosmos's sake, stop
reading.]
Hello stranger,
We know each other far too well to be strangers.
We're joint at the hip, in fact. We're each other's shadows, each other's
can't-be-seen-without... It hasn't been too long since we first started talking
to each other but we've gone a really, really, really long way from being just
acquaintances. You basically know everything about me and I basically know
everything about you. We can barely keep secrets from each other or at the very
least, stop talking to each other. As I've said, we're each other's shadows.
Where one goes, the other's bound to be close by. I could go on and talk about
how close we are but that isn't the point.I just want it to come across, first
of all that we are no where close to being oblivious of each other's existence.
So, now, I guess it's funny of me to call you stranger.
I'm making myself a stranger to you and in the
process, making you a stranger to me. My walls are going up while I'm tearing
our bridges down. I'm sorry for that, Stranger. It's just that I can't stop. I
don't want to keep doing it but I just can't stop.
There's just this horrible weird feeling I get
every time we meet face to face now. Every time we talk,it feels like I'm
talking to a person I don't know at all. Now,I act like I have to impress you
every time we meet. Before you start thinking, I'll tell you, it's not your
fault, I promise. I just don't get why it feels so different around you now.
It's like we have force fields that make us repel off each other. I don't like
it that way at all. I just want things to be back to normal--me feeling
comfortable around you, not having to wear pressed powder or worry about how I
look when we meet up, us calling each other bitch and just hollering at each
other wherever we go. You might say that we still do all this but I swear to
you, if you were in my shoes, you'd understand that they don't feel the same at
all.
It's not your fault. Really,it's not and
honestly, I'm not too sure whose fault it really is. I can blame myself,
though, for the mean time. I can't always go on blaming my idiot hypothalamus
for making me go head over heels over for you, but I guess I made a mistake
somewhere down this path. Sometimes, I hate myself for making that happen--that
weird encounter we had in my living room. I didn't really think those five
words would drive me deeper into this totally weird emotion I'm wallowing in
right now but I guess it did.
I'm pouring my heart out right here, right now
on the worldwide web where just about anyone can see how pathetically stricken
I am by you--even you can see this, but that's not my biggest fear. Well, I did put
thought into every word I penned onto this post right now but what's there to
fear when I know you already know the entire truth of it all?
There's a difference to knowing what's going on
inside my head and actually believing what
I've told you. It was my fault, probably, stranger, that you seem to be an
unbeliever of my confession. I have to admit, it was uncalled
for. it did put our
friendship and everything in between at risk. It was a
stupid idea. A really stupid one. And it was more stupid of me to laugh at
my own words. Could I have expected you to take me seriously when I couldn't
take myself seriously?
Meh.
This post is probably going to be me pouring
diesel and tossing a match at the last bits of bridges we have left from the
ones I've dessicated with a mental sledgehammer. And it might also be the one
thing that would grow my mental protective walls to 400 feet all around me but
what's the worst I could do after saying it in your face?
I know well enough from what you tell me and
what I force myself to keep listening to that I won't ever be the girl to
you. Like, ever. No. I know that and now that I know how excruciating it is to
listen to and sing along to that certain Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat song and
get feels, I get why you've always to leave this 'zone'. Singing along to it
and only being able to relate to the words that regard myself and despise the
lines that supposedly include how you feel make me realize how sucky being in
this 'zone' feels. I know you get how I feel but this is just to bash the
ever-made-popular idea that girls never get put into this twilight zone.
Stranger, I've made an agonizingly long post
here and even I don't see the point of it. I don't get why I'm bearing myself
all out like this simply because I'm secure that you already know what I feel
about you. I don't get why I want you to understand that I was serious when I'm
supposed to be reveling in the fact that you kept it cool between us.
Seriously. I don't get why I'm letting myself drive me to typing all
this!
Meh.
Just humor me for these next few lines,
stranger--the way we humored my little 5-worded confession to you. I can't stop
thinking of you and how stupid I was for not ever knowing that you were there
for me all along. You really were. We laughed together, we fought and at least
once, I've soaked your shoulder with my tears, literally. I was exuberant when
I found out and confirmed to myself that my feelings for you were real. But
that was back when I saw you as my rock and the anchor that kept me on my feet
when everything tried to knock me down. Now, you're one of those things that'll
make me trip and I made you that way. Humor me when I say this in every way I
know, or better yet, don't read this or forget that I ever wrote it: As Chuck
and Blair fought about and all, I just want to say 3 words and 8 letters that
could alter the course of my entire universe. I love you. 143. ILY. Je t'aime.
Wo ai ni. I ove-lay ou-yay.
Yes, I said it in pig Latin. I am that serious.
I just hope you humored me enough to finish reading this post.
You're close, actually and congrats for enduring
this literary mess.
So, stranger, I know this post would one way or
another reach you and it'll be my loss and not yours if you read this. See what
an obsessed, boy-worshiping fangirl I am. You won't be new to it. I used to do
this stuff a lot in front of you... Only that now, it's about you. And if you
still don't believe me after I tear my heart out and shamelessly bear it out
here on the internet, at least you can listen to those people who'd read this
and actually believed in what I felt. All these 1,437 words that’ll appear once
I press this annoyingly orange publish button is how serious I am about what
I'd said that fateful day in March.
I don't need you to love me. I know you do
but just not in the way that I love you. All I want from you is for you to
believe what I'd said and if it isn't too much to ask, I'd like you to pick up
a big ass sledgehammer and tear down these walls I've made.
Affectionately,
Danielle
PS. Yes, I know how stupid I am. I don't blame
you for thinking that.
[And now, I'm just going
to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment and utter sadness. My heart... It
hurts... Really bad. And you won't be here to let me cry]
[Eh.]
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