Dear _______,
As you can tell, I have no idea how to address you because I haven't the slightest clue for how to understand our 'relationship'. I think we're friends- we've spent far too much time together for you to only be a 'friend-of-a-friend'. And I guess we're more than friends because we've been naked around each other and we both liked it. Even if there was way too much alcohol in our systems for the sex to have been amazing, it was still pretty good...
... and I'm doing this again: saying things out loud that should just stay in my head and not come tumbling out of my mouth. Like that night, I did the same thing: you kissed me and I kissed you back and I couldn't stop talking about how I SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS EARLIER AND HOW STUPID I WAS.
And you were nice: you laughed and agreed with me.
I'm sorry I'm so awkward sometimes. The truth is, I'd fancied you since I first met you. I thought you were clever and funny and I was charmed by your propensity for puns and for the way in which we would both nerd out over obscure post-colonial literature.
The truth is, I think I fell a little bit in love with you over our discussion of Rushdie as we waited for the popcorn. I was talking about the book and about to tell you the name of it when you said it instead, and I know I stared at you in surprise-awe because you'd laughed and chided, 'I am doing a PhD in this'. I held on to you a little too tightly as I hugged you goodbye that night. I think you hugged me back just as tight- I don't know for sure. I remember thinking it then, but I'm not sure because I might be making it up in my head to protect myself.
I like you. I wish I lived near you. I wish I didn't have to leave that day (or you didn't have to go home) and I wish I could've stayed a while- a long. long while- and we could've explored what this was. What had exploded. I wish I'd have kissed you before you left that morning. I didn't because I was afraid of morning breath- and god knows we'd both had a LOT to drink the night before. I still phantom-feel the way you kissed the juncture of my neck and my collarbone to say goodbye. That charmed me too.
And sometimes, I like to daydream about it. The what if, the what could have been, the what I'd like to explore. I feel a little stupid afterwards because while we're kind-of friends, we're kind-of-not and I don't know how to deal with this. This thinking about you and wishing we could run into each other and just see what happens. This constantly thinking about you and the way in which my hand fit exactly into yours and you held it so tightly and it fit so perfectly. The way I can sometimes catch a whiff of something that smells exactly like you and winter in London.
The truth is, this is all stupid. I like you and there's no hope here. I like you and you can never know. I like you and I wish it'd go away. I like you and I want it to stop.
I like you and I want to know if you think of me too and if you remember how I tousled your hair and kissed your cheek and how you once held me too tightly before you let go.
Yours,
xxxxxx
