To The Fuckboy Who Deserves So Much More

That brief moment we had was almost everything I imagined and wanted it to be.

I was completely drawn to you. If I were honest, I’d tell you I don’t mean romantically— perhaps you can say lustfully and sexually, more than anything and everything else. But I also knew there was so much more about you. I knew it the moment you read me a piece of yours. I was drawn to your voice, your energy, your soul. Everything about you. You just had me at that time.

I can’t emphasize this enough, but I just have to say that there’s so much potential in you. You’re powerful, attractive, driven, artistic, intellectual, and candid. Well, you probably already know that and didn’t need to hear it from me.

But I also hope that you know how you deserve so much more than what you’re settling for. It’s such a shame that your whole is less than the sum of your parts. You have so much love to give. I just know it. You have that kind of love in you. And it would be such a waste if you couldn’t give that love and in return, be loved the way you deserve to be.

And if by now you’re still reading this, you’d probably just brush it all off and say, “Fuck this shit, fuck my worth, you don’t know shit about me so let me live my life and do what I want.”

I know. I do know that even I can’t give you that kind of love that you deserve. I’m not capable of love. Most of the time, I can’t even love my own self. And maybe you’re right to say that I am afraid—not just of you and how you make me feel, but also of how I see myself and who I am.

Because perhaps just like you, I know how exhausting it is to live up to how people see you—how having their attention is both something you desire and despise at the same time. When suddenly, all you want is just an escape from your own reality where everyone is just too dependent and needy. How banal it is when people seemingly expect you to be almost perfect; when all you want is to not be placed on a pedestal—to live a life where you can be imperfect, and not feel like you have to disappoint anyone and apologize for it. How you always just crave to be something more than who you or who others think you are.

It’s as if almost too coincidentally, this is how you found me. In the midst of it all, you made me feel I can be someone else and that I can do so much more. I’m starting to realize, however, that by trying to be something more, I’m just slowly becoming less.

And I could be wrong. We could be different. I may not know this about you. I may not know things about you. Truth is, I may not even know you at all. But I know for certain that you aren’t dumb. You said so yourself that you really do think a lot. And by now you must’ve already thought about how there’s more to life than what you’re living for.

I’m not trying to change you, believe it or not. Although quite ironically, you’ve tried to coax me into believing that. Still, I’ve already long realized that I can’t do that to people and it isn’t my job to do that. I just sincerely want you to experience what it really means to live life to the fullest and to know what it’s like to have genuine joy. And maybe you’re right to think that I’m naive and innocent for being this way. You don’t have to feel silly, annoyed, upset, or guilty about it—in fact, I’m not asking you to feel anything at all. You don’t have to. It’s not supposed to make you feel anything.

You gave me something. And that’s enough to make me want nothing but the best for you.