Dear Person Who Is Just There,
I was going to write to you telling you how much I dislike talking to you and how after I do, I always feel like a loser and how I don’t understand why I push myself to do it. I literally push myself to talk to you. I don’t know why I do it. Is the humiliation getting addictive? Is it because you seem so indifferent towards me that I just need to shove it down your throat that I don’t want to be. That I want you to find me interesting.
WHY DO I TALK TO YOU???
This isn’t the point. I was going to elaborate on all that and write about how you are horrible and I am not. But instead I have opted to say this:
I want to tell you that I think it’s a shame that we don’t get a long (I’d be lying if it was only your fault). I think we could have been great friends. We would have gotten along splendidly if it were meant to be, and I think I’ve finally concluded that it isn’t. Meant to be, that is. You see, I can easily say that you are mean and careless (and I sometimes really do get this horrible urge to just throw all the blame on you like that) but the truth is, you aren’t. Out of all the things I have believed you to be, “nice” hasn’t been scribbled off that list once. (Okay, maybe once for, like, a couple of minutes, but still.)
And it would be so cruel of me to go and blame myself. That will do me no good. Yes, I might come off as annoying to you and not at all interesting, but I can’t bring myself to think that way. It’d hurt too much. I wish you had the same interest in me that I have in you, but you don’t. And I’m trying to teach myself that it’s okay, and it’s not your fault or mine. It just wasn’t meant to be. Call it bad timing or whatever. Maybe I was trying too hard. Maybe you aren’t the person that I think you are. Who knows.
Whatever it is, it’s not meant to be. I know that now. I think. It makes me a little sad. Thinking about you being interested in someone else makes me feel a little sad. How I want to see her. How I detest the idea of her. But the idea of something with someone who was meant for me makes me happy. Someone who finds me interesting without me having to try so hard, someone I find interesting and funny and can have conversations with that have me feeling good about myself. And in the end I have to say that, above all else, I truly do care about myself. I find myself interesting. It hurts that you don’t, but trust me, I will get over it.
It truly seems the universe has other plans for us, and I believe our journey will probably end here. For now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. I certainly do not. All I can say is that I truly wish you all the happiness you deserve. And may you find what you are looking for. (I hope we both do.)
Your sorta friend/acquaintance,