An Open Letter to a Crush


Dear Boy:

I can’t seem to find the words to say to you. Or, I guess I should say, type to you. I’m so confused. My brain is teeming with half-developed thoughts of who you are and what you mean to me. I hope this will clear few things up.

Firstly I want you to know that I love talking to you. Every time I see your name lighting up my phone my heart is airborne for a second or two. My thoughts begin to race. “What will I say to you?” “Why has it taken so long for you to text?” “Should I have texted first?” Then none of that matters because I am hearing about your week, supporting your triumphs, lending a hug for your failures. I really care about every detail about what is happening in your life. I hope the feeling is mutual. I fear it is not.

I guess you need to know how it was in the beginning. I had been hearing from my roommate about how perfect we would be for each other. We both shrugged it off. But, I think you should know it hurt on some deep level to see you become infatuated with my other, more beautiful roommate. I envied her and secretly wished I were the one you found to be so irresistible. However, I buried those negative thoughts because they didn’t help anything. Then, we somehow began texting. I remember the first night, we stayed up until around two in the morning playing the question game and getting to know each other.  You were worth the sleep loss. Talking to you was like catching up with an old friend. I fell asleep that night thinking that it was just a one-night thing, and that it would be the last time I would talk to you. I was wrong.

You texted me that next morning. I really wish you could have seen the smile on my face. That’s when it became real. You wanted to keep talking and I needed to know it wasn’t all a dream. Weeks went by and I absolutely adored how hard you tried. My roommate told me you liked me, but I never believed her. No one had felt that way about me before and I wasn’t willing to let myself get tricked. Your best friend and his girlfriend (my roommate) would discuss us. She pushed for something more than friendship, though we had never met. He told her to stay out of it. She didn’t listen. Whenever I heard that you were caught up on what to say to me I was flattered. I was no one to get nervous over, and you could never say anything wrong to me. As long as you were talking, I was hanging on to every word.

Then one night, while saying goodnight, you called me sweetie. Just when I was getting my thoughts in order, you shook everything up. Here you were, softly handing me a term of endearment. I had no idea what it meant. Does this mean you like me? Are you just being nice? I still have no explanation.

Summer came. You got a job and I enrolled in a summer class. Texting slowed to a weekly occurrence. I resent this because I felt like you had become less interested. Nonetheless I savored every exchange we had. Making plans for dates and ideas on how to finally meet in person. When you promised to show me the Star Wars movies I cherished the thought. A promise never meant so much to me. I began to think of you on a daily basis. I would hear songs you labeled as your favorites and I would drift into thoughts of our conversations. I couldn’t see anything SNL related without thinking of you and smiling.

I told my parents about you. I told my best friends about you. I wanted to share the idea of you with the world. I was starting to like you; a lot. I opened up to you, telling you things about myself that not another soul on this forsaken earth knew. I let you into the world I kept hidden from others. I have to tell you, I’m terrified. I know that the easiest way to get hurt is to care. And, I care about you. I’m afraid you’ll reject the precious secrets I’ve shared with you. Please don’t brush me off as trivial. I want to mean something to you.

You’re something I’ve never encountered: funny, sweet, kind, supportive, shy, passionate, and adorable. You deserve the best. You deserve more than what I can give you.

The distance is tough. It means I may never meet you in person. I can’t handle that thought so I push it away. I realize if we ever do meet, I wouldn’t be able to face you. How could I look into your eyes and possibly face rejection or disgust reflected at myself? What if I’m not the person you think I am? What if you hate me?

I want to meet you. I can’t.

I want to tell you how I feel. I can’t.

I want to believe you feel something for me. I can’t.

But, I will continue to try, because you are the first to give me a chance.

For you, I will.


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