Letters to X: Summer Romance In a Fiction

Hi readers! This is my first sloppy entry for “Letters to X”. So sorry it takes too long to post my first entry. Enjoy the amateur writing by me!

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When I met you, there were no fireworks. No sparks. Nothing. I can’t remember if there’s a chance that we did talk. All I know is that we just keep bumping each other in the school corridor like strangers. It started with the casual, occasional texting and soon morphed into incessant texting. We practically knew each other’s every move.

He had messy waves, black, short hair when I met him. He wore a black pants that sagged just right. I had my favorite flannel shirt and jeans on. He was a full-on sport guy. I was 17 and naive. I had too much of my life going on. There were parties and night outs and boys.

He was young and just as complicated. He had all his life figured out. He played ball and went to church on Sundays. I lay on my bed hung-over on Sundays. He loves his family and his friends. He has goals, but he has some wanderlust, too. He texted me when he was free and he let me know when he was busy. I did not see myself as the princess you came to rescue. Instead, as we chatted and enthused over our similarities, I saw something else. I saw a friend. I felt a warmth and security that is unlike romantic love but just as special, if not more. I believed we were companions on the same boat. Well, at least we were at the beginning.

Seeing a small box up on top of my shelf filled with handwritten letters, scraps of paper, mostly white. Some are in envelopes, some are loose. But they’re all there. Every single one.

When I’m curled up in my bed because Dad yelled at me again and I haven’t started my errands, and I feel so alone that I am paralyzed, there is only one thing that can propel me to stand. I walk to the box and pull one out. Sometimes, I just need a little one; a couple of words will do it, as long as they’re yours. But when it’s one of those nights and the world feels too big, too far away, and I dig my fingernails into my thighs just to feel something other than Too Much, I need more. I need a long one. Maybe the one that spans both sides of the legal-sized paper because that’s all you could find and you know how much I hate emptiness. Or maybe the one that starts “I’m writing because I don’t know what to say when I’m with you.” That’s one of my favorites.

But in the absolute worst of times, I always go for the second letter you ever wrote me.

You told me you liked me for the very first time. He liked me, he said. A lot, I asked. And laughed and laughed and laughed at the thought of someone liking me so much. He didn’t say anything. I kept on laughing. He stared at me until I finally stopped. Why, I asked again. His eye glimmered and faded into nothing. He looked down on his knees and pressed his fingernails into them. I looked away. I asked you twice to make sure I’m hearing the words right. I’m confused. I didn’t believe it. I could no longer bear seeing him worship me so much. I knew we weren’t in love, because we didn’t know each other well enough or long enough to even entertain the idea of love. You professed your drawn out infatuation during Christmas together with the gift you’ve given me. I didn’t deserve the way you treated me. And you did, for an interesting turn of events, treat me good. But I was scared of how good you treated me that long after all these will last, I will crave more and more until you no longer can give. We were young and things were new but probably not as exciting as they should have been. But just as quickly as you made me believe we were something, we became nothing — and I’m not sure how or why.

For me, that was okay because I’m not sure if you REALLY fallen in love with me.

Of course I didn’t mind it, I think that maybe your words are not serious at all I don’t want to assume it means romantically. And I can’t be too selfish to ask that much from you, when I only laugh in the middle of your sentences. So months passed by you stop talking to me. And I don’t want to bother you, to disrupt your life in any way. That time I’m sure you’re not serious and tried to play it cool.

My dad words keeps replaying in my mind, and I know that every father wants his daughter to be with a good man. My dad told me, “Wait for the right time and for the right man. If the man is ready to wait for you and never gives up on you it is worth the risk to give him chance.”

It shouldn’t hurt this bad. I wasn’t even allowed to call you mine. You weren’t my boyfriend but the expectations were there. You made me trust that it would happen, that I wouldn’t have to feel alone. That you were going to be here, at least for a while. You listened to me. Wanted to know everything about me, even the darkest parts of my soul. I’ve had walls up for quite some time but I’m trying to put down those walls to let you in my life. I let you in and you ended up giving up on me.

But, the next day, it was as if last night’s episode never aired.

And now I look back, reading all the messages we exchanged. I just was never sure of him. Until today.

And I guess summer, like the feelings that come with it, lasts only for a short while but stays in our memories forever.

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