TO THE WONDERFUL BOY

Perhaps I have given up my hopes on you. But perhaps I am hoping again too. 

I don't know why I am writing you this letter. Two days ago, I told myself that I should no longer believe in you, yet here I am in front of the computer screen debating whether I should let my fingers keep stringing words through my keyboard or just let these thoughts wonder in my mind for God knows how long.

I let the former dictate my choices. 

This letter is not about you. This letter is about someone else---someone who grew unexpectedly close while  I was looking for you. It's about how I feel. It's about the butterflies in my stomach and the blush on my cheeks and the tangles in my gut. 

Yes, this about him, and this about me as well.

I don't know what to feel now, wonderful boy. 

I don't know what to do. 

It would've been easier if you'd just shown up, if you'd just been real and tangible and not just a product of wishful thinking. It would've been so much easier if it was the both of us that became friends, if it was you who found me and fell for me and loved me. It would've been easier if he hadn't shown up and read your letter because now I'm torn. Now, I'm torn and I'm the one tearing myself into minuscule bits that can never be glued together again. 

I can't read him. I honestly can't. I don't know him as much as you do, yet in our few days of waiting for you, I feel as if I've known him forever. I feel comfortable with him. His eyes are like home, reminding me of coffee and a million things I can't put names to. A million things as I watch him helping me find you. Helping me find you as I walk up the AS steps and see him holding this absurd signboard. 

"Wonderful boy, let her find you."

Because I don't need it. 

I don't need to find you anymore.