I wish there were more guys like you.

You and your eloquent words…

You write like Shakespeare and Thoreau and every other famous poet in history. You write the way all girls want to be written to, because it seems like you write love letters even when you speak of tragedy. I have been told many times that I don’t need a man, but I cannot help but be enticed by all you say, probably because you aren’t afraid to show your emotions. Boys nowadays tend to run away from their feelings, turning around when you expect them to catch you yell out, “Trust fall!” Then again, I see you are not a boy, but a man; you are a man that writes novels of the soul.

But they say that writers are the most scarred. They say writers take their brokenness and twist the sad memories into something beautiful. They say writers are anything but perfect. But how can you be anything other than that? Your pen is like an oboe and the words on the paper are like notes on a score to my favorite lullaby. You are the sheer music that gives me peace and although my heart is cold, with you I am vulnerable because you make it so easy to open up to you. It’s so hard to find that kind of charisma in the world so, to me, you are perfection.

But I can’t have your perfection because there’s someone else. I hope that whoever has your heart will treat you well because you deserve nothing less. I hope that she loves you and that whoever else may come along will make you happy because I’m not sure I’m in the state to do that. But you seem fine with your life, so I only pray that you’ll continue to be content and hope that one day I’ll find someone more like you.


No. 2 on “A List of Things I’ll Never Say.”

I just watched this video.

It’s called “FIRST KISS.”

Tatiana Pllieva, the videographer, asked twenty strangers to kiss for the first time. On camera. And I guess she did this to highlight the awkwardness of the first kiss experience, but also the beauty of it.

And of course it made me think of you.

I remember when you used to have me watch videos like these. I would be doing homework or reading and you would message me with a smiley face, telling me to type in certain keywords or copying the whole link altogether. They were usually experiments, ranging from a chili pepper challenge to a bullying PSA.

I can still recall the first of these videos: The Mistletoe Kissing Prank by Stuart Edge.

When you showed me this, we were in a weird place. I didn’t know what we were, and frankly, this didn’t help. We agreed it was adorable and I was left wondering if you were hinting that one day you’d like to catch me under the mistletoe.

To this day, I don’t know if you ever did. Or if, somewhere in your heart, you still do, but choose not to follow through with that desire because that will only cause us trouble. Our encounters are uncomfortable now, and we only speak to each other when absolutely necessary, which is pretty much never. Again, I’ll never know.

So when I saw this video, of course I couldn’t help but think back to a few years ago when we shared our first kiss.

It was after the opening night of our high school’s spring musical. A Thursday night in March. We had gotten into a fight over some idiotic matter the day before and we wanted to apologize for acting so irrational so we talked it over. You could still smell the rain that had fallen a few hours ago. And outside of the metal door, hidden amidst chairs and other wooden props, we kissed. Little did I know that kiss-and-make-up was no real way to solve a problem. But even in the quickness of the moment, it was enough to reel me in and keep me wanting more. It’s a shame that the “real” first kiss we shared a week later turned out to be the last.

Of course the video made me think of you.

When I saw it, I had the urge to message you, not unlike you did with me not too long ago. I wanted to say, “Hey, remember when you used to show me those social experiment videos? Remember the mistletoe video? Well this one is kind of like it. I think you’ll find it interesting.” And I wanted nothing more than for you tell me that you remember. For you to feel again. For you to tell me that you miss me. For you to tell me that you wanted our lips to touch one more time.

But that would absolutely be the most stupid thing I’ve ever done, because you probably wouldn’t reply. Or if you did, you’d scoff and say, “Seriously? You’re not over me?” Or something like that. You’d push me away again and I’d be left embarrassed and things would get worse for us and it would only break me down further.

I still wish we were okay. I wish that I was walking in front of you in the rain, under my umbrella, and something would make you reach out and grab me by the waist. And I’d be shocked, but you’d pull me in and look into my eyes. And you’d be wet but I wouldn’t care because I’d be locked in your stare and then we’d close our eyes and it would happen. And I’d drop my umbrella to snake my arms around your neck and just linger there, kissing you. Like a scene from a movie. I remember you telling me that this was a dream of yours.

But that’s crazy.

Partially because we’d get hypothermia or some kind if sick. And also because it won’t happen. I’m sure those days are long gone.

Maybe you’ve watched the video. Maybe you want to show me, but you know it’s not right. Maybe you don’t care. Maybe someone else has replaced me and showed that video to you.

No one knows.

But one thing is for certain.

I won’t be the one to make you watch “FIRST KISS,” because that would tell you I still have feelings.

And that’s one of the things I’d like to be left unsaid.