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Mar. 7th, 2007 | 12:32 am

You pick up the phone, and I don't know what to say any more.

So what are we now? Are we just friends? Are we still something more? I want you to know that I still love you, but I feel like I can't just tell you any more.

We talked today, and it was awkward and painful. I left that call feeling sick and depressed again, and I don't like that.

Do you know what I miss? I miss feeling smug when my friends talked of relationship issues, knowing that there was a girl (a young woman? do i even know what to call you?), however many thousand miles away who loved me, and whom I was ready to do nearly anything for. I miss the anticipation of seeing you, eagerly counting down the days (even though I didn't want school to end because I loved it so much) until you and I could be, well, practically alone.

I miss Hawaii. I miss sitting in the car next to you, wanting to hold your hand but being too embarrassed to. I miss feeling like we have to be discrete, but not wanting to. I miss the weird food, I miss that little voice saying somewhere, deep down inside me, that these are people I could get to like. People I could get to know.

I even miss your cousin calling me white boy, a little.

I miss feeling good about this fucking life.


Remember that time when we were first dating, and you were upset, and angry, and you took it out on me? When I was hurt, and depressed, and I avoided you, and finally you realized what you were doing was cruel and wrong, and you found the courage to catch up to me and explain to me what was wrong? Remember when I did my best to help you, because I could understand that you were going a little crazy and you needed someone who could weather what you threw at them and could forgive you?

Do you remember that? Because I do. Understanding isn't forgiving and I don't think I've ever really forgiven you for the way you treated me. But I looked past that, because down inside you was a person that I loved. Down inside you was someone that I felt something unique for, and that I didn't want to lose.

And so I worry that what I'm going through is just that again, and that again you're just hurting me because you're afraid and your life is changing and you're not sure what you're going to do. I wonder, "is this worth it?" and there isn't even hesitation. "Yes."


And I because can't tell you these things, here I am - taking the coward's way out. Writing them on my Livejournal like some barely pubescent girl whining about how daddy doesn't love her because he won't buy her that new 500$ piece of whatever. Hoping you're maybe listening. Maybe reading.

But I think this is stupid. So I'm going to write you a letter, and that letter going to be written in my hand, and it's going to be just like that letter you wrote to me two years ago just near Christmas on cute colorful stationary (the same one that is sitting in my bag right now, always near to me). I don't know what I'm going to write yet, but I do know that this letter is going to explain things to you that I can't say in person, or even over the phone or AIM. Words, after all, come easily to me. Sometimes.

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