In an attempt (a tad rebellious maybe) to be honest to the only thing that screams "THE REAL ME" - my blog, I continue to write truthful letters. This is the second one
I know of no other name by which to call you, as you had always complicated my thoughts. I write this letter so that I may finally, honestly, claim that I told you how I feel - even if I am relieved by the fact that you may never read this letter, or the fact that you may read it, but never know that its you I am talking about. See? I told you it was complicated.
The first time I saw you, I wanted to see you closer - maybe look into those eyes that were so intriguing. Of course, the stuttering fool in me ensured I could not speak even a few decent lines in your presence. Yes, you were intimidating - and I don't say this only as someone who had my heart on my sleeve - you seemed to have that effect on many people!
We spoke - many times, as our paths crossed often. I guess I noticed every movement, every glance, every syllable from your mouth. I had played it over and over in my head - in slow motion, wondering each time whether you meant something when you said random words, or passed amused glances my way.
You were tall - tall enough that I could spot you in an crowd. I could recognize the sound of your voice, your laughter - and your bike from a distance. I knew all your best friends, and even became friends with them. But you? You I could not befriend - maybe because I was such a klutz around you, or maybe because you already knew how I felt and didn't feel the same way.
I have moved on - life has that to its credit - I found my love, my happiness and where I belong. But you, my dear Complicated, will always make me dreamy-eyed and weak-kneed.
The one who chickened out.