Monday, 14 January 2013


Well, I was there on the day
They sold the car for the Queen
And when the lights all went out
We watched our lives on the screen
I hate the ending myself
But it started with an alright scene.
- My Chemical Romance, Disenchantment

So there’s this boy.
…No, hear me out.
There’s this boy, and, well… yeah.
I like him. And apparently he likes me, but to be honest, I doubt it. I’ve known him since I was three, I think I’d… Okay, fine. Other people are trying to convince me he likes me, but I don’t think he does. Just because… well.
I’m not explaining myself well. Look. Here’s a letter I wrote (as advised by my fellow elephants). It was a few months ago, but it holds up. The only difference is that X Took a Level in Jerkass (I’m pretty sure she’s a Tsundere too, just I don’t know which type) and we don’t talk as much now. So we don’t walk with the boys.
Dear N,
You confuse me.
At our old school, you’d relentlessly take the mick. We were rivals, but I was winning. On the rare occasion you’d beat me, you’d be so unbearably pleased that I’d vow never to let it happen again. You’d make up little songs about me, songs laughing snidely at me, and I’d try not to show how much I hated it when everyone else started singing them too.
That was then.
Now, it’s… different. You still poke fun at me. A lot. And it still hurts. And I still ignore it.
But that’s the end of the similarities.
When my guard slips, when my emotions flutter across my face, when anyone could see how much your words hurt, I’d say you were appalled if I didn’t know you. You take back what you’ve said immediately. You look like… like you actually care about me.
When I moved house, we walked down the same road for our secondary school. You’d laugh at me for being a ‘larry’ when I got to the top of the road early, before X and Z got there. The first year, I deliberately avoided you there.
Now we’ve started Year 8, X and I walk with the boys. It suits all of us. And we end up walking down our road for maybe a minute together each day.
You always think of some excuse to talk to me. And you don’t laugh at me. We actually talk. For a minute a day, three or four days a week.
And every day, every lesson we have together, I catch you watching me.
And I’m confused.
But I think I like it better this way.
That’s as coherently as I can explain myself.
But that doesn’t explain everything. It doesn’t explain how I feel when he’s around. How whenever he’s hurt, I’m hurt. How my heart skips whenever he speaks to me.
Fun fact: I don’t know why they call it butterflies. It felt like my ribs were being bludgeoned open by a sledgehammer. Or something.
Maybe not a sledgehammer. Maybe something like a tennis ball.
In case you missed it*, I’m not good at this ‘explaining myself’ thing.

So there’s this boy. And I like him. And maybe he likes me.
And I’m confused.
Love always,

* ‘In case’ is a strange phrase. In case you missed it. In case. Maybe it’s short for ‘in the case of’. In the case of you missing it. A hypothetical phrase. See, this is why I have no life. I spend my time being confused by the English language and boys, and relating my life to TV Tropes.

No comments:

Post a Comment