Dear Julian,
I missed you today. I think you might've gone home sick or something during G Block, because I saw your backpack during Health. I know it sounds all saddo, but I waited for you to come pick it up. I kept my eye on the door, hoping to get a few seconds of eye contact with you. Eye contact with you is like heroin to me, my stomach swirls and my insides buzz.
It didn't used to be this way. I looked at blog posts from another blog where you are mentioned, and I said I didn't really like you that much even though we were close friends at the time. I don't think I had fully realized it, is all. That was back in January, when we first began flirting. I miss then. We had all our inside jokes, like hell being a casino and our "can't be two things at once" game. When you pushed me down in the snow and we raced our skis. That was at our old ski course.
We were skate-skiing today, a welcome reprieve from our classic lovefest. Personally I was not feeling the love, I think you were feeling the same. You missed a chance to show off your natural v2 technique, something I am still trying to perfect. I remember when I told you how much trouble I was having with it. You went, "Like this?" and did it with barely any trouble. I was so jealous.
Currently I am sitting at home on the couch after a long practice. The weather was actually nice though, I could take off my coat and ski freely. My parents just got back from the grocery store, and I have a blister at the bottom of my foot.
Sometimes I wonder if Andrew could ever figure out that I liked someone else. On occasion it seemed like he did. "Is anything bothering you?" he'd ask, real concern showing in his eyes. I'd give some indication of no, but he'd persist. He knew I was hiding something. It was something I was trying to hide from even myself. I wanted to like Andrew, maybe even wanted to love him. But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. He was sweet, considerate, funny, smart (somewhat), everything a decent boyfriend should be. And he'll make some deserving girl a very decent boyfriend. But he wasn't for me. I told him that when we broke up, but he didn't seem to believe me. "I'm not the one for you," I said, pacing around my house, wishing the conversation would end. And after 18 minutes of uncomfortable yet strongly-worded (on my part) talking it did.
A normal, well-adjusted teenage girl would've cried maybe a little bit for the bitchiness she'd had to exhibit. She would've cried for lost love, for the realization that most things don't last forever, for the fragility of even the strongest-seeming relationships. But I didn't cry. I felt almost relieved that I didn't have to deal with pretending that I only liked him. And that night I had a dream that you and I kissed, Julian. And instead of waking up feeling guilty about it as I usually did, I laid in bed in a happy stupor when I woke up, warm from the blankets and warm in my heart with hope.
Hope comes and goes. Sometimes it burns strong in my chest, other times there's a hole in my stomach. Stupid girl, he'll always be the one you come back to. And maybe you will. But honestly, I've never felt this way. I think that helps me a little. Along with the whole reciprocal liking thing. I'm still waiting for that to kick in. But to come back to a previous sentence, I feel like my feelings will save me, that my waiting will eventually be rewarded. For now, I'm enjoying being single again, having time for myself and not worrying about being Flawless Goddess Girlfriend. It can get exhausting, trying to maintain the upper hand. But at the same time it was dull, at least where Andrew was concerned. He followed me around like a puppy, did whatever I said. I was singing this song earlier today, and it described it perfectly:
Every time you go away
It actually kind of makes my day.
Every time you leave you slam the door.
You pick your words so carefully,
You hate to think you're hurting me.
You leave me laughing on the floor...
That's classic Avril Lavigne, my friend. Say what you want but in her golden times she was a punky Taylor Swift. I know you're more into Passion Pit, Yeasayer, etc (and by that I mean stuff I can't really remember). Lazy, sloppy work, Jerrica. Yes, indeed.
The catalyst that caused me to break up with Andrew was you, you must've figured that. Yes, there was the whole "he bores me to death" thing. But at the Team Feed, when we were talking, your eyes lighting up as you looked at me, leaned toward me as if enthralled by my presence. I must've been looking similarly. Those few minutes of conversation, those bits of exchanged words, had me in an afterglow on the way home, I am ashamed to say.
I knew that I couldn't feel that way about you and still be with Andrew. It wasn't fair to him, and if I kept it going I knew I would just hurt him more down the line. It was a breakthrough I had whilst showering a few months ago. I'm going to break his heart. I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but still it remained. In my print diary, I mention you in every one that I write during the time that I was dating Andrew. I think you're mentioned in nearly every one as it is, and I started it in June. I'm not sure if this is some sort of companion to it, but sometimes I feel as though my diary tires of me talking about you. So now it's as if I'm talking directly to you. Take that, diary!
Revenge tastes like ink and paper.
Maliciously,
Jerrica
