Dear 'Blue Eyes',
Crush is completely the wrong label for you. You surpassed that a very long time ago, somewhere in between you asking me if I liked you and the time we ended up play-fighting and after pushing me down and coming in way to close you avoided coming within touching distance of me for an hour. You got over it eventually, and acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. We spent that entire night texting. We progressed to talking almost every day and then one day it just stopped. I was going away, you were busy; we didn’t have a friendship that was strong enough to last. I was wrong. You appeared back in my life, and since then it has been a rollercoaster of ups and downs, where you’ve been avoiding any kind of label and been unable to decide what you want. I’m not your girlfriend, because she’s someone else, and I don’t want to be your girlfriend to be brutally honest. But I’m not nothing to you either, because this isn’t just about me. You can’t let it go.
I will admit that I like you far more than I should. However, the same can be said to you. The first time you told me that you liked me you skirted around the issue and told me that was the best you could give me. And haven’t we come a long way since then? We don’t see each other much – for good reason. Because we can’t be trusted. We have no self-control. I enjoy your company so much, but being around you is just tempting something to happen. Which, the last few times we’ve seen each other, it always has. It’s progressed though, we used to be flirty and exchange banter that pushed the boundaries; now you make a joke, I start laughing and you kiss me gently as a way of gauging if this is okay. It’s not okay, but we can play pretend. So I kiss you back and for however long we’re together everything is fine, until it’s not. In reality, you’re a cheat, I’m a bitch and we’re making a bad situation so much worse because we can’t help ourselves. We’re like children let loose in a sweet shop. I used to think this would be fine, that it would just fizzle out because it was just a physical attraction that meant nothing. But I don’t think that’s the case anymore; it’s something else, and it can’t be defined, and it’s going to ruin everything.
You asked me why I liked you the last time I saw, just over a week ago, before things got messed up. I didn’t have an answer for you, because I don’t know the answer. You are full of bad qualities but there’s something there, even when you complain that my heeled boots make you look short or that you hate the taste of my lipstick. The truth is, I hate your current haircut, you have no awareness of other people’s feelings and sometimes you come across as arrogant and I want to hit you round the face. The way you are absolutely fascinates me; you’re so odd and at times outrageously mean. I was warned off you when I first met you, and I can see why people said those things. I didn’t listen. I used to think you led me here, like a White Rabbit attempting to turn my world upside down. Now I realise you fit much more the role of the Hatter, speaking in riddles and confusing me with no awareness of what you are doing. You knew it was my favourite story, and you used to call me ‘Alice’. It was a twisted basis for what was bound to come, it was when things got personal, when neither of us wanted to sleep unless the other was on the other end of the phone. We got too close; you were broken and all I wanted was to help and we ruined each other. There’s something there now that will always be there, because for a while it wasn’t physical – it was a need that had nothing to do with animal instinct or greed. It was just easy. And that’s the problem, it requires no effort. We’ve built ourselves something painful and seemingly indestructible. And now we have to break it, because one of these days we’re going to destroy each other.
So maybe ‘crush’ is rather apt, after all. In another context it means to press or squeeze something with force of violence, so as to cause damage of injury. We’re both damaged now but I’m never going to apologise. You are not an innocent party, and you can pretend, but there is something there. It would never have gotten this far if there wasn’t.
- 'Alice'.
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