(For the purposes of porpoises, the names in this letter have been changed to protect the identities of dolphins all around the world.)
Dear Yellow Shoes,
Sometimes I wonder Yellow...I just can't help myself. I wonder, if I hadn't been so stupid when I was 10 years old (when things were I'm-going-to-marry-my-school-crush easy) and wrote you that EMBARRASSING email about how you made me cry, would I be in this position? If I hadn't been so sad I'd lost my only companion in my seemingly teeming-with-life, but truthfully sad and empty world, would I have tried to grab your attention again in a desperate attempt to continue to feel special? I still can't look at that STUPID email with out getting this awful feeling in my stomach like I've just disgraced myself in ways I can't even begin to fathom. But if I hadn't gone through that embarrassment, or ignored you when I finally got the chance to see you I'd been begging to have, maybe I would still be lost.
The truth is that you're the only person I've ever met who is...like me. I've always wanted someone like that, someone who is like me. I think we all do, especially as kids. I know for me, I always pretended I had an imaginary twin who got everything I said and sided with me on every issue, especially issues concerning my parents. Her name was Asha (is it weird that I still remember?) and she got me! You get me. I can tell. You seem...special.
I knew you were special before you were special to me. I remember distinctly that it was your hair that made an impression on me when you started at school. It was long, and fell to below your chest. You were timid, shy, and so very, very young. I was fascinated. You were not like other people. You were fresh and new and gorgeous to me. Lots of times I tried to tell you how beautiful I thought you were, but I never got up the courage.
Then we got to know each other. We spent early mornings discussing flesh-eating worms and dreams and crazy teachers who burnt $20 bills in front of their classes, while other children pelted each other with dodge balls. I liked you. I was curious about you. And I got curiouser and curiouser....
Then you left. I spent awhile walking around and around, hoping you would notice that I was sad. I thought you'd say, "Never mind, I'll stay if it means that much to you." But I'm still trying to learn that the world doesn't revolve around me, so I didn't realize that you had your own life besides me. So I wrote you that email. And now I'm not so lost. It's comforting just to know you're a click away if I need you. I'm still awkward and embarrassed and petrified every time I see you, even when I press send. But I guess I just don't want to screw up...? I hope you don't think this letter is too creepy when you read it.
Love Always,
A Writer.
Dear Yellow Shoes,
Sometimes I wonder Yellow...I just can't help myself. I wonder, if I hadn't been so stupid when I was 10 years old (when things were I'm-going-to-marry-my-school-crush easy) and wrote you that EMBARRASSING email about how you made me cry, would I be in this position? If I hadn't been so sad I'd lost my only companion in my seemingly teeming-with-life, but truthfully sad and empty world, would I have tried to grab your attention again in a desperate attempt to continue to feel special? I still can't look at that STUPID email with out getting this awful feeling in my stomach like I've just disgraced myself in ways I can't even begin to fathom. But if I hadn't gone through that embarrassment, or ignored you when I finally got the chance to see you I'd been begging to have, maybe I would still be lost.
The truth is that you're the only person I've ever met who is...like me. I've always wanted someone like that, someone who is like me. I think we all do, especially as kids. I know for me, I always pretended I had an imaginary twin who got everything I said and sided with me on every issue, especially issues concerning my parents. Her name was Asha (is it weird that I still remember?) and she got me! You get me. I can tell. You seem...special.
I knew you were special before you were special to me. I remember distinctly that it was your hair that made an impression on me when you started at school. It was long, and fell to below your chest. You were timid, shy, and so very, very young. I was fascinated. You were not like other people. You were fresh and new and gorgeous to me. Lots of times I tried to tell you how beautiful I thought you were, but I never got up the courage.
Then we got to know each other. We spent early mornings discussing flesh-eating worms and dreams and crazy teachers who burnt $20 bills in front of their classes, while other children pelted each other with dodge balls. I liked you. I was curious about you. And I got curiouser and curiouser....
Then you left. I spent awhile walking around and around, hoping you would notice that I was sad. I thought you'd say, "Never mind, I'll stay if it means that much to you." But I'm still trying to learn that the world doesn't revolve around me, so I didn't realize that you had your own life besides me. So I wrote you that email. And now I'm not so lost. It's comforting just to know you're a click away if I need you. I'm still awkward and embarrassed and petrified every time I see you, even when I press send. But I guess I just don't want to screw up...? I hope you don't think this letter is too creepy when you read it.
Love Always,
A Writer.
No comments:
Post a Comment