Loving Who I Can't Have

Dear K_____, 

You’ll never read this, which is why I suppose I can finally be honest. Finally be honest and talk about the feelings I have kept inside me all these years.

The first time I saw you was a week after my fourteenth birthday. In those days I was gangly, with a forehead of pimples hidden under dull brown bangs, wearing loose shirts and shorts to hide the budding breasts and wider hips that were taking shape underneath. Over the last year, I’d started wearing clothes from my brother’s closet, eschewing the cute blouses and short shorts in favor of polo shirts and baggy shorts. My mom said I was going through a phase, and humored me, saying that I would grow out of it soon. 

That summer she had signed me up for theater classes as a way to make me more sociable, and I was sitting as far away from the stage as I could. I was already sweating off the ounce of bug spray I’d applied a few minutes earlier and the muggy morning smelled of citronella and oak trees. I was hot and miserable, and already wishing I was home, watching TV in air-conditioned comfort.

But the second I saw you, all complaints about heat were gone. All I could do was stare as you walked - no, strode - onto the small wood stage, your dark hair cropped short, loose tank top and green capris showcasing curves I’d never have. What you said I can’t recall, but in that instant you became a fixed wonderment in my head for the rest of the summer. 

I rushed to class every day, looking over the students until I saw your face. And when we were paired up for a scene together, I was overjoyed. Until I realized I could barely speak in your presence. But you laughed, picked me up and spun me around, saying: “there, the ice is broken, now we can be friends.” 

And we were.

We’d meet every other day to practice our scenes together, some days at your house, some days at mine. We’d talk and laugh in between scenes. Movies, books, our shared obsession with Sherlock Holmes made the hours fly by far too quickly. Made the hours only minutes, seconds of time I wanted to spend with you. 

I became greedy for those shared times, those moments when I could be alone with you. I didn’t understand how seeing you could make my heart so warm, how every word from you was like music. When I confessed my feelings to my mom, like my wardrobe she said it was just a phase. That I would grow out of it. But I never outgrew you. Instead, I chased every opportunity to be with you again, wanting more. But never sure if you wanted the same.

Sometimes we would watch movies, curled up on opposite sides of the couch with only our feet touching each other when we changed position. 

Sometimes we would just talk. You could make me laugh like no one else, and perhaps that is why when I left your company, I felt like crying. Because you were no longer there to make me smile.

All too soon, summer ended. High school started for me, sophomore year for you. There were no more after school practice sessions, only text conversations that went long into the night. 

You were there for me when my parents separated, always there. Sending me texts and jokes while my tiny house became a battleground and furniture and possessions were separated into boxes. A light on my screen to assure me that everything was going to be okay as my world crumbled around me. 

You left home as soon as you turned eighteen and I haven’t seen you since. But as the years have gone by, I still think about that summer, and I can dream that you still care. 

I still think about the day when you came to say good bye. Like the first day we met, you lifted me up in your arms and spun me around. “There,” you said. “Now we’ll always be friends.” I remember being -briefly - happy, giggling because you were holding me in your arms. Sad because I didn't want you to put me down. But when you did finally let me down, I walked you to your car and we stood under the streetlights laughing and talking while I shivered in the cold. I didn’t dare go back inside because I wanted to spend one more minute with you and I didn't know when I would be able to see you again.

You, who leaned so casually against your car in your leather jacket and boots. The streetlight haloed your hair with gold and I wanted to laugh and cry and kiss you all at once because I missed talking with you and you looked so beautiful.

I should have told you something. I should have told you everything. How every second I was with you made me feel so alive, so happy. Or at the very least I should have told you that I didn't want you to go. To get in your car and drive off into the sunset. To find a place where you could finally feel at home, to get a job and to start your life without me. But I said nothing when you got in your car, nothing as you turned the key in the ignition, and only waved when you drove away, even though my heart was breaking.

And the days since I had seen you turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, the months into years. 

I know there will come a day when you will find someone you love. Someone, who is not me. 

And if we ever meet again, I promise, on that day, I will smile and wish you all the joy in the world.

But still, as I write these words, as I let you go, let me whisper quietly, I love you.