I hate how you always smell so good, and how I can never look at vanilla the same way. I hate how I think of your crooked smile every time I am sad. Every time I am happy. Every time I am angry. Every time, period. I hate how I can never look at love the same way because of you. Because mostly, my dear, I hate how much I love you because no matter how much I try I can’t forget you. I can’t forget how I can’t ever have you. And that is what I truly hate – that you can’t be mine.
Dear You, I know what I wrote the last time, it was childish. I was scared to admit the truth, that I love you. I realised that today. You were giving me one of your silly stories and then you sneezed. And I realised that I never enjoyed a sound so much. A fucking sneeze for god’s sake. The sudden involuntary expulsion of air from the nose and mouth due to irritation of one’s nostrils. I do it all the time, yet when you did it I thought it was the best thing I had ever seen. The way you clamped your hands over your perfect mouth, the way your button nose crinkled, the way you leaned your shoulders forward. There, a fucking sneeze has helped me finally identify a feeling. Thanks a lot, now you’ve really stuffed me up.
Dear You, Okay, now that I’ve established that I don’t really hate you I might as well try some positivity and list some of the things I love about you. I love how your floppy hair falls over your right eye when you turn around to say goodbye. I love how you laugh at the worst times and fail to laugh when you’re supposed to. I love how you always share your blueberry muffin with me. I love how you give me the top because not only do you hate it, but you know it’s my favourite part of the muffin. I love how you were the first person I have ever met that never made an assumption about me, you just wanted to get to know me. Mostly I love you just the way you are, please don’t ever change. We’re meant to be together. It’s so obvious to everyone but you. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t I tell this to you? Why is it that all I can do is write these letters that are never going to be sent to you?
Dear You, I saw Stacy flirt with you today; so obvious it’s not even funny. I wanted to slap the shit out of her when she twirled her hair for the fiftieth time in two minutes, batting her eyelashes like she had something in her eye. Then there was Janet yesterday, Riley the day before. The girls all want to be with you, all the boys want to be you. I have to watch all the pretty girls want you, and I have to watch you turn them down because you’re already with someone else. And that is what I really hate the most of all: that you have someone who calls you her own. I really need to find a way to get over you. I can’t do this much longer. The pain of having someone I can’t have is inextricably painful.
Dear You, So I said I would try and get over you, didn’t I? Well it failed miserably. I had a date with Bobby, and all I could think about the whole time was how you teased me for finally deciding to go out with a boy. How you teased me for actually wanting to get dressed up, get my hair done, put on earrings and makeup. All I could think about was the way you looked at me when you saw me in my red dress and heels when I was leaving home. You never looked at me that way before. All I could think about was the way you kept saying I was going to have a bad time with Bobby and how I would find his jokes lame and stupid. All I could think about was how you went all quiet when I asked you about your girlfriend, the one who lives in another city; how you never talk about her anymore. You’re not allowed to stop me from moving on, you just can’t. I’m just going to have to try harder.