Without You I'll Be Miserable at Best
Because boys are too blind to see what is right in front of them.
Dear That Boy,
In my life, no one has ever made me blush as much as you have. Not my previous boyfriends, not the boy at the bowling alley that you haven’t heard about, not the boys that walk up to me with that confident smirk on their faces… None of them can stand up to your pretty-pretty blue eyes that make me giddy the second they land on me. None of them can mirror the pure worry you have for me when I ask for advice. The way you really want to help solve my problems, in your power or not, only shows how loyal you are. And even though you are that way with all your friends… it makes me smile.
Do you remember the time we went to the mall with our two friends who were on the verge of dating? Do you remember when they were sitting on the opposite end of the bench and you just looked at me, gently lifting my sunglasses off of my head? I remember that very clearly. And I remember the dozens of butterflies whose wings fluttered, almost violently, in my stomach, and how hard I bought back my blush. Yes, I remember. But do you?
Listen, boy, I like you…a lot. My heart could die every time I see you with her. One of my best friends. Why do you like her? Why do you look at her like she’s a goddess, when she already proved to you that she’s a whore in orange skin? Haven’t you realized that all boys have liked her at one point in time, but quickly got over that phase? She already made out with your best friend when she knew you liked her, and he then told you about it. You were pissed – I could tell. Do you remember telling my friends and me that she will never earn your trust again, because you saw her for what she really was?
And yet here you are, flirting with her in the hallway, like no one else exists but you two in your perfect world.
Why can’t I be that girl? Why can’t I, for once, be the girl who had your heart?
But from the way that you hardly spare me a worthwhile glance after the appropriately dubbed “Sunglass Incident”, I wonder what is really going on. I deserve to know if you’re just playing with me, but I can’t bring myself to think that you are. That’s just not you.
Before I leave you to your thoughts of my goddess-esque friend whose slutty ways steal all the boys’ interests away from my other friends and I, may I tell you one thing? My best friend recently asked me what I would change about you.
I told her not a single thing.
I’m not one for cliché, teenage romance, but I really meant it. You’re perfect the way you are. It doesn’t matter that you’re a tiny bit shorter than me, that you’re awkward, and that you tend to get awful haircuts…
It doesn’t matter to me.
You’re still that boy – the one I’m pinning over.
And I’m still that girl – the one who can only hope her feelings aren’t in vain.
Signed,
That Girl.
In my life, no one has ever made me blush as much as you have. Not my previous boyfriends, not the boy at the bowling alley that you haven’t heard about, not the boys that walk up to me with that confident smirk on their faces… None of them can stand up to your pretty-pretty blue eyes that make me giddy the second they land on me. None of them can mirror the pure worry you have for me when I ask for advice. The way you really want to help solve my problems, in your power or not, only shows how loyal you are. And even though you are that way with all your friends… it makes me smile.
Do you remember the time we went to the mall with our two friends who were on the verge of dating? Do you remember when they were sitting on the opposite end of the bench and you just looked at me, gently lifting my sunglasses off of my head? I remember that very clearly. And I remember the dozens of butterflies whose wings fluttered, almost violently, in my stomach, and how hard I bought back my blush. Yes, I remember. But do you?
Listen, boy, I like you…a lot. My heart could die every time I see you with her. One of my best friends. Why do you like her? Why do you look at her like she’s a goddess, when she already proved to you that she’s a whore in orange skin? Haven’t you realized that all boys have liked her at one point in time, but quickly got over that phase? She already made out with your best friend when she knew you liked her, and he then told you about it. You were pissed – I could tell. Do you remember telling my friends and me that she will never earn your trust again, because you saw her for what she really was?
And yet here you are, flirting with her in the hallway, like no one else exists but you two in your perfect world.
Why can’t I be that girl? Why can’t I, for once, be the girl who had your heart?
But from the way that you hardly spare me a worthwhile glance after the appropriately dubbed “Sunglass Incident”, I wonder what is really going on. I deserve to know if you’re just playing with me, but I can’t bring myself to think that you are. That’s just not you.
Before I leave you to your thoughts of my goddess-esque friend whose slutty ways steal all the boys’ interests away from my other friends and I, may I tell you one thing? My best friend recently asked me what I would change about you.
I told her not a single thing.
I’m not one for cliché, teenage romance, but I really meant it. You’re perfect the way you are. It doesn’t matter that you’re a tiny bit shorter than me, that you’re awkward, and that you tend to get awful haircuts…
It doesn’t matter to me.
You’re still that boy – the one I’m pinning over.
And I’m still that girl – the one who can only hope her feelings aren’t in vain.
Signed,
That Girl.